The Queen of Hearts
by Marble Rose
Summary: AU Paire. “Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.” Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between real love and infatuation.
1. No Kiss for Sleeping Beauty

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre:** Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** T, PG-13ish  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.  
**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet."

**A/N: Spoiler Warning**: To all of you who've seen Episode 1x14: Distractions, this little fic is going to disregard the revealing of a certain bio-daddy. This story is an AU fic in which Peter and Claire are not related by any means, but if you're still squicked by it, I'll understand if you stop reading. However, please don't bother with flames or any reviews telling me how icky this story is now. It's all in fun.

So, this is the beginning to a somewhat lengthy Paire fic, showing how Peter and Claire could fall in love in spite of his infatuation with Simone. I didn't have _Desperado_ in mind when I started writing it, but when I started playing around with titles, this one just seemed right. It helps that the song fits the story. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: No Kiss for Sleeping Beauty**

Isaac, Hiro, and Ando had studied the painting for several minutes, trying to decipher its meaning before concluding it was useless. Correction: Isaac and Ando concluded it was useless. Hiro was still staring at it intently, leaning in close, nose nearly pressing against the canvas before backing away and tilting his head in contemplation, only to lean in again.

When asked what he was doing, Hiro didn't even look away from the painting, merely responded gravely, "Studying my opponent, learning his weakness." A quick glance at Ando's raised eyebrow and dumfounded expression had comforted Isaac. Good. At least one of his new companions was sane.

"So, what now?" Isaac wondered aloud.

"I vote for plan B," Ando voiced.

"What's plan B?" questioned Isaac.

"Doesn't matter. Any plan has to be more successful than this one," Ando gestured at the drying canvas.

Isaac was inclined to agree. He had been hoping to paint some sort of clue to stopping the impending decimation of New York, maybe some insight into the exploding man. Instead, he got an exuberant, sword wielding Japanese guy about to become an appetizer. Maybe the dinosaur could breathe fire and was going to roast Hiro? After using gunpowder as seasoning? Isaac shook his head to clear it of the silly images his brain was conjuring. People were counting on him. He had to get it together.

"I'm going to try again," he said firmly, resolutely. He could do this. Maybe if he concentrated on something specific, he would be able to direct his power. After preparing another canvas, he sat in front of it and closed his eyes in concentration. His last conscious thought was a plea to whatever force or deity that had given him this strange gift: _Tell me how to stop the explosion_.

When Isaac came out of the trance and peered at his newest painting, he still wasn't sure what it had to do with the explosion, but at least this one gave him some sense of direction, some hint as to what he had to do next.

There she was, the elusive cheerleader, leaning over a bedridden Peter, smiling at him tenderly.

---

After seeing his new painting, Isaac had called the hospital in Odessa and learned that Peter was indeed a patient, but no, they couldn't be connected to his room because Mr. Petrelli was in a coma and unable to come to the phone. So now, he was walking down the nearly empty high school hallway, looking for a cheerleader named Claire Bennet.

Isaac felt a little sorry for Ando's eyebrow, which was certainly getting a work out from the number of times it raised in response to the kooky things his friend kept doing. Currently, Hiro was creeping from door to door, sneakily peering through the glass windows, into the classrooms, searching for a blonde girl in a red and white uniform.

A teenage boy was coming their way, blatantly staring at Hiro's strange antics. "Don't mind him. He…" Isaac trailed off, grasping at any sort of way to explain Hiro, "suffers from brain damage," he finished. Apparently, that was good enough for the boy, who just nodded understandingly. "Hey, do you know where we could find Claire Bennet?"

Hiro took this as his cue to jump in, "We must find the cheerleader or the world as we know it will end!"

The boy, still staring dumbly at Hiro – _creeping, crouching Hiro _– gestured at a pair of doors and mumbled something about practice and a football field, and Hiro was off, charging through the doors and calling out, "Cheerleader Claire!"

"Brain damaged?" Ando snickered.

"Hey, it was the only thing I could think of," Isaac answered, defensively.

Ando smirked, "I think your explanation was right on."

Isaac chuckled. "Come on. We better get out there before he scares the poor girl away."

---

Smile, shout, clap, jump, kick. Claire had loved being a cheerleader, had put so much effort into it, but now it just seemed so inane. She was just going through the motions, working on autopilot. God, she didn't know how much more of this she could take, didn't know how much longer she could stand in cheer formation without screaming or pulling out her hair. How long was she expected to fake this?

"Cheerleader Claire!"

Claire's head whipped around, looking for the source of the shout. A small Asian man was running in her direction, finally stopping in front of the practicing cheerleaders. A little out of breath, he grinned earnestly, "I come in peace!"

Claire's brows shot up into her hairline, and she looked around self-consciously as the other cheerleaders snickered. The man smiled expectantly, presumably waiting for 'Cheerleader Claire' to reveal herself. A little hesitantly, she offered, "I'm Claire."

The childlike man's grin widened excitedly, "It is an honor to meet you, Cheerleader Claire!"

"Uh… thank you?" Claire replied awkwardly.

"Take it easy, Hiro," a new voice joined. There were two more men coming her way, the one who just spoke holding a large, rectangular object – a picture? "He just gets a little excited. Are you Claire?"

Claire had no choice but to nod. She didn't know what to expect but had a sneaky suspicion that these men weren't here to offer her a discount on the cheerleading uniforms she kept having to replace. How bad was it that she was considering buying them in bulk?

"I'm Isaac," he offered his hand to her, and she tentatively shook it. "This is going to sound really strange, but…" Isaac trailed off, as if suddenly realizing that the entire cheerleading squad was eavesdropping. "Would you mind stepping over there and having a word with us?"

Claire consented, albeit a little apprehensively. Once they were out of hearing range, Isaac turned and faced her, "We need your help."

---

When the three men – Isaac, Hiro, and Ando, she'd learned – came to her and asked her for her help, she'd been apprehensive, of course. A homicidal killer was after her, and her father wasn't at all who she thought he was, so it only made sense that she'd be mistrustful. Isaac kept trying to reassure her, speaking in soothing tones, telling her he understood that what he was saying sounded crazy. Even though he'd explained that his paintings were what enabled Peter to save her, she was still hesitant. But once she learned it was Peter who needed her help, she'd interrupted their rambling explanations and urged them to take her to him.

Once they were in the car, Isaac told her Peter was in the hospital. He'd shown her a painting of Peter lying in a hospital bed, eyes open, looking up at her. Isaac took this to mean that Peter would wake in her presence, and though she wasn't sure how capable she was at reviving coma victims, she was willing to give it a shot. She owed him her life, after all. If he needed her to sit by his bedside to get better, she'd gladly do it.

And she wanted to see him. Even if she couldn't help him, she wanted to see him. How was it possible to care so much for someone she didn't even know? She'd felt so alone since she'd found out about her freakish abilities, but he'd changed that. Because of him, she knew she wasn't alone; there were others in the world like her, and he was one of them.

But it was more than that. She hadn't been exaggerating when she called him her hero. He had saved her, had _died _for her. It only made sense that he would become special to her, especially in light of recent circumstances. The loss of Zach and her father's betrayal made her cling that much harder to the precious memory of the stranger willing to sacrifice everything for her.

They finally arrived at Peter's room in the hospital, and there he was, unmoving and pale as death. Ironically, he looked better than the last time she'd seen him, which wasn't saying much since he'd been covered in blood and sweat, coughing harshly, eyes burning red. Now, the blood was gone, most likely washed away by nurses, and he was dressed in a hospital gown instead of the bloody t-shirt. His bangs were slicked back off his forehead, a shame, Claire thought idly. She remembered instantly liking his hair, thinking the way it fell into his eyes was endearing.

There was a man, dressed in an expensive looking suit, standing at the window. He didn't so much as glance at them when he heared the door open, "You've got the wrong room. My brother's the only patient in here."

"Petrelli nii-san!" That certainly got the man's attention.

Isaac looked to Hiro, "You know Nathan Petrelli?"

A succinct "No" from Nathan was drowned by Hiro's gushes about flying men and forming a Justice League. Claire could see the man's jaw clench, as if Hiro had hit a sore spot. The man's voice was tight when he asked, "What do you want?"

Isaac stepped forward. "We're here to help Peter."

"Well, as you can see, he's in a coma. There's nothing you can do." A dismissal.

Isaac let out a breath before trying again, "That's where you're wrong. I painted him waking up, and the things I paint come true."

Nathan's eyes narrowed, "I know all about your paintings. If it weren't for them, my brother wouldn't be in this mess. He wouldn't have gone gallivanting off to save some cheerleader, thinking he was some sort of superhero. Now, leave before I have you escorted from the premises."

"He is a hero! He saved the cheerleader!" At Hiro's emphatic declaration, Claire bit her lip, feeling everyone's attention divert to her.

Peter's brother assessed her, eyes trailing over her scornfully. "This is the girl? The one he thinks is the key to saving the world?" She felt an instinctive urge to defend herself but kept her mouth shut.

"Yes," Isaac affirmed, placating, "and we think she's the key saving Peter, too."

More derision, accompanied by the sardonic raising of an eyebrow, "And just how does she intend to accomplish that?"

"We don't know," Isaac replied, but he was quick to continue, "but look at this," he held up the painting he'd been holding. "His eyes are open." Isaac said this as if it were a revelation, one that Nathan, if his expression was anything to go on, clearly wasn't privy to.

"I know this must seem crazy," began Isaac, but he was quickly cut off.

"It doesn't seem crazy. It _is _crazy. You're wasting my time, which consequently is more valuable than the average person's, so if you don't mind…"

Frustrated, "You care about Peter, right? I mean, of course you do; he's your brother. So why don't you just let her try? What have you got to lose?" The magic words. The man's expression lost its hostility, and the tension left his shoulders, signaling his concession to Isaac's request.

And everyone's eyes were back on her, waiting for her to work whatever miracle foretold of in the painting. She felt out of her depth, helplessly admitting, "I don't know what to do."

Nathan gave a derisive snort, while the others looked about as clueless as she felt until finally, Hiro took one of her hands, led her to the hospital bed, and directed her to sit beside Peter's unconscious body. Then, looking back and forth between her and the painting, he positioned her, placing one of her hands on Peter's chest, moving the other to cradle his face. "Like the painting," he explained. Claire couldn't help but give Hiro a small smile.

Claire felt a bit awkward having her hands on him but didn't dare move them in case their position really was necessary for waking Peter up. "Now what?" she turned to the others.

"Maybe he's like Sleeping Beauty and just needs a kiss," mocked Nathan, but when he could see the others were actually considering the idea, he rolled his eyes and added, "That was sarcasm."

"It couldn't hurt to try. Go ahead, Claire," Isaac encouraged.

Claire's heart beat just a little bit faster, which was silly because it was just a kiss. And it's not like it would mean anything; it was strictly an attempt to help him like he'd helped her. Well, not exactly like he'd helped her, obviously, because she didn't think a kiss would've saved her from getting the top of her head cut off, and she really needed to stop stalling and just get this kiss over with.

She nervously moistened her lips, let her thumb brush over his cheek, and took in a deep breath before letting it out in a rush. Slowly, she lowered her head, bringing her face closer to his… and met his eyes with hers.

"Angel?" he breathed.

"Cheerleader," she corrected amusedly, still leaning over him, cupping his cheek and clutching his covered chest.

His confusion gave way to recognition, "Claire!" Claire gasped when he suddenly shot up, knocking her off balance, but catching her before she could tumble to the floor. His hands gripped her shoulders, and she had fistfuls of hospital gown. His wide eyes mirrored hers, and she couldn't help but giggle at the way they were tangled together. Peter gave her a lopsided grin in response and loosened his grip before letting go completely, and she did the same, bringing her hands down to rest in her lap. She looked down demurely before raising her eyes to his again.

"Isn't this touching," Nathan's wry comment made her cheeks hot.

"Nathan!" Peter grinned as his brother squeezed his shoulder affectionately. Then, noticing the rest of the onlookers, "What are you guys doing here? What am I doing here?"

"You've been in a coma. Do you remember getting out of jail," Peter's expression closed off, turned solemn, but Nathan pressed on, "You fainted like a little girl." And Peter's grin was back.

"That still doesn't explain the rest of you," his eyes flitted to the others in the room before falling on Hiro. "You're Hiro, right?"

Hiro smiled widely and bowed, "Present Hiro, at your service."

"It's nice to finally meet you, and it's good to see you again," he inclined his head at Ando. "Isaac, where the hell have you been?"

"In the rehab from hell," replied Isaac. "They said they'd help me kick my habit, but turns out they were only interested in my paintings."

"Your paintings?" Peter tilted his head questioningly.

"Yeah, her dad (Claire looked at him sharply) wanted more help figuring out how to save her, but I couldn't paint sober, so he offered me drugs. Some rehab, huh? I had to sneak out."

So her dad knew someone was after her? He knew that someone would try to kill her, and he didn't even warn her? And it dawned on her. He may not have warned her, but he did try to save her; he'd grounded her, confined her to the house, thinking that she'd be safe as long as she stayed home. But there were still so many questions, so many things she didn't know about him.

"But it's okay, I mean, I'm clean now," Isaac continued, "and I did it." He held up his portrait of Peter and Claire. "I painted this, no drugs involved. It's how we knew to bring Claire to you."

And Peter's eyes were back on her, gazing at her in wonderment. "You healed me."

She smiled, but then shook her head a little. "I don't know how, though. I mean, I can heal myself, but I didn't know it could work on other people."

"That's my gift," Peter explained. "We all have them. Nathan flies ("Let's broadcast it, why don't we."), Isaac paints the future, Hiro travels through time ("and space," Hiro piped.), and I… I do whatever it is that the people around me do."

Claire looked around at everyone, amazed that a few days ago, she thought she was the only one of her kind, and now she was in a room filled with people like her. A room full of freaks, she thought fondly. "What about Ando? What does he do?"

Hiro answered happily, "He's my sidekick," which got a loud snort from said sidekick.

Amused, Isaac elaborated, "He provides the humorous commentary. Only, sometimes it's in Japanese so you won't be able to understand it," which earned laughs from nearly everyone, and Claire, despite just meeting these people, felt connected to them, as if she were a natural member of this odd grouping of people. She reveled in the feeling, and let her newfound sense of belonging take away what was left of her reservations.

"So, Peter," her voice laced with calculated innocence, "Do I really look like an angel?"

As the others laughed, Peter looked around at everyone, confused. She pressed on, "That is what you called me, isn't it? An Angel?"

Peter groaned, but his grin didn't leave his face. "Tell me I didn't."

"You so did," she teased, "I was leaning down to you, and then you opened your eyes and said…" she paused before finishing dreamily, "'Angel.'" More laughter.

Peter chuckled a little, but then furrowed his brows, "Wait a sec. Why were you leaning down to me?"

The questioned wiped the smirk off her face, freezing her like a deer caught in headlights. She looked around, desperate for someone to come to her rescue, but their amused expressions told her she was on her own. "It was your brother's idea," and how stupid of an excuse was that? But apparently, it worked because Peter's attention was diverted away from her and onto Nathan.

Nathan raised his eyebrow at her before turning to Peter. "I was trying to get you some action."

Peter's eyes widened as she sputtered, "That's not what happened! You were supposed to be like Sleeping Beauty." Oh God, why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut?

"Sleeping Beauty?" he bemusedly questioned, "You kissed me to wake me up?"

"No, no," she denied, "There was no kissing."

"You woke up before she could do it," Isaac supplied helpfully.

"Looks like I missed out," still with that teasing, flirtatious tone, "Then again, I could always lie back down, so we could try this again."

"A do-over," encouraged Hiro.

"What do you say?" Peter wiggled his brows a little. "I'll even get in position." True to his word, he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes.

"I don't think so," giggled Claire. Peter still hadn't moved. She rolled her eyes, "It's too late Peter; you missed your chance." Still no movement. "Peter," she admonished. Sighing, she finally compromised, "Will you accept an IOU?" And his eyes opened.

"Can I have it in writing?" he implored.

She pretended to be affronted, "Is my word not good enough?"

Peter looked her over, assessing her, "You look trustworthy enough," then lips curling into a crooked smile, "but you better not forget that you owe me a kiss."

Claire laughed, "I'm sure if I forget, you'll remind me."

"You can bet your life on it."


	2. Don't Flashy Thing Me

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST  
**Rating:** PG, for now  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Merry Christmas! Here is the chapter in which I spoon-feed you exposition. Sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. Peter and Nathan just wouldn't stop fighting. Pets them That's brotherly love for you.

**Chapter Two: Don't Flashy-Thing Me**

The hospital staff was a little baffled at how well Peter seemed to be doing; his skin had lost its pallor entirely, and the dark circles around his eyes were mysteriously absent. They had wanted to observe him for another twenty-four hours, but Nathan intervened, and persuaded them to release him that day. So now, they all sat around Peter's hospital room, waiting for the doctor to return for one last precautionary examination.

"There's something I have to tell you," Peter began solemnly, his eyes to the floor, expression pained. He looked like a man preparing to confess his sins. "It's my fault. The explosion… it's all my fault."

Hiro gasped, "You are the exploding man?"

"What are you guys talking about?" Claire asked, feeling a little lost.

Isaac answered her, "I painted an explosion happening in New York, and then, when I was in 'rehab'," finger quotes around the word, "I painted the reason for it," slight pause, "a man." At Isaac's explanation, Peter's shoulders slumped even more, as if those words proved that everything was, indeed, his fault.

"And you think this 'exploding man' is you, Peter?" His guilty expression told her that he did, but she still didn't understand, "But why? Why would you think it's you?"

He ran a hand through his hair, "Right before I passed out, I had a vision." Finally he looked up at them. "You were all there, looking at me like I'd let you down. Except for us, the streets were deserted." He paused, letting his gaze flit to each of them, finally settling on her, "You ran away from me." His voice didn't change volume, seemingly addressing them all, but his eyes were locked on hers, and she _knew_ that last comment was meant for her. "I didn't understand what was happening 'til I looked down at my hands."

"Does this mean you're going to turn to the dark side?" Hiro asked worriedly.

"Of course he's not," She scoffed, completely dismissing the idea, but Peter didn't look like he shared her confidence.

"Here's what I don't get," began Isaac, "Peter copies people. So wouldn't there have to be someone for him to copy? Some other person capable of… exploding?" And for the first time since he had made his confession, Peter's expression looked hopeful. "So maybe if we can find this other guy, we can make sure he – or she – never comes into contact with Peter."

"I hate to rain on your parade," Nathan interrupted, not in the least bit apologetic, "but when did my brother become Miss Cleo?" At everyone's blank looks, he continued, "How do you know that this _vision_ of hisis indeed prophetic? He said he felt like he'd let everyone down; maybe this dream merely symbolizes how he felt after choosing his… _profession_," he overly enunciated the last word, making it sound like some politically correct euphemism.

Insulted, Peter bit back, "Give it a rest, Nathan. You can't seriously not believe me, not after everything that's happened."

Nathan folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head back proudly, showing he still wasn't buying into their stories of prophecy and destiny. When Peter didn't back down, Nathan sighed and said condescendingly, "You honestly believe you're going to explode? Just because of some dream?"

"Hiro saw it happen," was Ando's attempt at helping Peter.

"It's true!" followed by Hiro's emphatic nods.

Skeptically, "You saw my brother explode?"

Hiro shook his head, and Ando explained, "He only saw the explosion. He traveled to the future, to November eighth," he looked to Hiro, making sure the information was correct, "That's when the explosion happens."

"The eighth, huh? As in, the day after the election? The election you said I'd win?" More nodding from Hiro. "Wonderful. I'm going to go down in history as the congressman dismissed from office because his brother committed an act of terrorism."

"This is serious, Nathan," Peter reprimanded.

"I agree," responded Nathan with false sincerity, "If you blow up the city, I won't stand a chance for reelection."

Peter let out a frustrated huff, but didn't say anything in return. If Claire hadn't felt so loyal to Peter, and if his brother wasn't such a jerk, she would've thought he looked like a petulant little boy. Maybe that's what he looked like to Nathan, who continued to goad him, "What if we sent you on a nice, long vacation? You can't destroy New York if you're not _in _New York. I hear there are some starving orphans in Africa in need of saving."

And the petulant little boy was gone, replaced by a fierce man, who rose to his feet to glare accusingly, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? To get rid of me so you didn't have to deal with me?" He continued vehemently, "Aren't you going to offer me money this time? Or were you just planning on paying my airfare?"

"Guys," Isaac mediated, "this is getting us nowhere."

His body coiled in angry restraint, Peter's chest heaved as he let out harsh breaths. Nathan merely stared back at him coolly.

Finally, Peter relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sat back down beside Claire, who was looking up at the clock, biting her lower lip, and fidgeting with the hem of her uniform top, which Peter noticed, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," an instinctive response, but she backtracked, telling him the truth, "It's just, my dad gets off work soon."

She was starting to panic a little. Why hadn't she thought about her dad sooner? Well, she supposed she had, when Isaac and the others came looking for her, but then they'd told her Peter needed her, and she'd thrown caution to the wind, leaving with them before she'd thought out the consequences. Now that Peter was awake and healthy, the dread and anxiety was setting in.

"Do you need to get home?" Peter asked.

"I can drive you," Ando offered, already in the process of standing.

"No!" she exclaimed, surprising everyone. "He can't see me with you." Her eyes widened as realization hit, "He's gonna know I ditched school."

Isaac chuckled, "The worst he can do is ground you, right? I spent a lot of time being grounded when I was in high school; it's not the end of the world."

She shook her head, "You don't understand. Getting grounded is the best case scenario,"

"Claire," Peter's expression was soft, his voice soothing, "will he hurt you?"

"He doesn't beat me, if that's what you're asking." Frustrated, she paused, considering whether or not to tell them her real fear before deciding to just take the plunge, "He's gonna know I remember. He might already know."

Peter, not comprehending, "Remember what?"

But Claire was shaking her head, silencing him, "There's something weird going on with him…" She kept going, rambling about her dad's creepy henchman whose power was the equivalent of the flashy-thing from _Men in Black_ and how he used that power to wipe her friend and brother's memories.

Finally, she turned to Isaac, "He knew you could paint the future. How would he know that? _Why _would he know that?" She could practically see the cogs turning in their brains. "God, I used to think he was just a normal dad with dorky glasses, but now I have no clue who he is."

Everyone was looking at her, not knowing what to say after her outburst, until Isaac conceded, "He does wear dorky glasses." And the tension was broken.

Claire laughed along with everyone else, feeling the anxiety drain from her body. "I kept trying to pick out new frames for him, but he's freakishly attached to those horned rims."

"Horned rims?" Peter asked; she was a bit thrown off by how intent his voice was. "Nathan, didn't you say one of the guys who tried to kidnap you wore horned rimmed glasses?"

Stunned, Claire asked Nathan, "My dad tried to kidnap you?"

"There are thousands of people who wear those glasses," Nathan replied. "What are the odds that it's the same man?"

"But it's possible," Peter pointed out. "And what about the memory-wiping guy who works for her dad? Maybe he's your 'spooky Euro dude.'"

"You're reaching."

"This can't all be coincidence," Peter argued. Claire and the others just sat and watched them volley back and forth.

"Fine, let's say this little theory of yours is correct, and her father really is part of some conspiracy," Nathan sneered, "What do you think _you're_ going to do about it?

"Well, I have to do something!" He was back on his feet. "It's my job to look after her!"

Nathan responded exasperatedly, "Says who?"

"Every one!" he gestured wildly, "Hiro from the future, Isaac's paintings!" And then, most vehemently of all, "Me! _I_ say so!"

"What are you going to do?" Nathan responded contemptuously, "watch her twenty-four/seven?"

"If I have to!" Peter yelled back defiantly.

"Oh, the media will love that," Nathan raised his hands, mimed the headline of a newspaper, "Candidate's brother travels cross-country to stalk cheerleading Lolita."

"She's very photogenic, so the paparazzi should get some nice pictures," offered Ando, and the comment was so unexpected that both brothers turned and looked at him as if he'd grown another head.

Finally, Nathan turned back to Peter and reasoned, "Peter. You're being irrational."

"Someone tried to kill her, Nathan. And who knows when he'll try again?" Peter's statement made her blood run cold. Claire hadn't given much thought to the possibility of the man coming back to do the job properly. Peter finished resolutely, "I can't let her die."

"Well, you can't stay here, either," Nathan shot back.

Peter didn't argue, just stared back Nathan, considering. "You're right. I can't stay here."

"Finally, some sense." Nathan sounded relieved, but Peter wasn't finished.

"She'll have to come stay with me." Claire felt her world turn upside down for the hundredth time that week. It had flipped so many times she didn't ever think her feet would find the ground again.

Nathan looked horrified, but Peter ignored him, his mind made up. He turned and knelt in front of her; he looked determined, resolute. "What do you say, Claire?"

In the background, Isaac, Hiro, and Ando wore nearly identical expressions: eyebrows raised in disbelief, mouths parted in shock. But all Claire could focus on was Peter's imploring gaze.

"It's not safe here," Peter told her firmly. "Whoever it is that's after you knows where you live. He could come back at any time." She felt a trickle of fear but knew he wasn't saying these things to scare her. He only wanted to make sure she knew the reality of the situation.

She could hear Nathan ranting, listing off all the reasons this was a bad idea: her age, school, her dad…

But Peter unwaveringly held her gaze, waiting for Nathan to finish before he spoke to her quietly, earnestly, "I can't argue with what he's saying, Claire. I don't have all the answers. But I promise you, if you come with me, I'll do everything in my power to protect you."

She stood at the cliff's edge, fear anchoring her feet to the ground, as she stared down into the abyss.

"Trust me." The final reassurance she needed.

She jumped, confident he would catch her.

---

Claire was crammed in a seat between Peter and Isaac, nerves tingling as the plane ascended into the air.

"I can't believe you made me downgrade to coach. I despise coach," Nathan complained from the other side of Peter. She suspected he was still sore about losing the argument with Peter.

After she'd agreed to go back to New York with Peter, Nathan had made several derogatory remarks about shacking up with minors, but Peter ignored him, satisfied with her answer.

He'd had her write a letter to her parents, told her she should offer them a believable reason as to why she'd run away. The only thing she could think of was that she was traumatized by what happened to Jackie. Hiro eagerly took up the mission of delivering her letter, promising to pack for her while he was in her room. When he reappeared almost immediately, he was holding the suitcase she'd only ever used for family vacations. Not long after that, the doctor returned to tell Peter he was free to leave, and Nathan shook his head resignedly and pulled out his cell to make flight reservations.

He'd only had to buy four tickets, as Hiro insisted on him and Ando fulfilling their "heroic journey," which Ando said was Hiro-speak for not being able to ditch their rental car.

Although she didn't regret her decision, there was still some residual fear. When she'd agreed to go with Peter, she hadn't really considered the logistics of her decision. She was going to be rooming with a practical stranger, and even though she trusted said stranger with her life, the thought of living all alone with him was nerve-racking. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying with you?" she asked Peter worriedly.

Nathan took it upon himself to answer, "If you're having doubts, I can always ask the pilot to turn the plane around. Of course, he probably doesn't take requests from people sitting in coach…"

"Don't listen to him," Peter grinned at her. "He's just jealous because the pilot can fly better than he can."

Nathan grumbled, and she could've sworn she heard him mutter, "Like hell, he can."

"Gum?" Claire turned her attention to Isaac, and then looked down at the proffered stick of gum. "Go ahead; it'll help with the ear popping."

She smiled and took it. "Thanks."

"No problem," he shrugged good-naturedly, "I have a ton of it."

As she opened the wrapper, she asked curiously, "Do you just really like gum?"

"It's supposed to help with cravings," was his wry response.

"Are you trying to quit smoking?"

He shook his head. "Not smoking. Other drugs. Bad drugs that you should never try."

She nodded her head obediently, "Got it. Drugs are bad. Just say no."

"Smart girl," he approved.

Claire rolled her eyes but kept smiling. "So, does the gum work?"

Isaac shrugged, "Don't know, but at least it's not hurting anything."

"Except your teeth," she teased.

Peter, who'd been listening to their conversation, leaned forward and slightly over her lap so he could see them both. "Cut the poor guy some slack, Claire. He's entitled to one vice… even if it _is_ going to cost him a fortune in dental bills." He shared a conspiratorial smirk with her before leaning back in his seat.

---

When she and Peter finally arrived at his apartment, she was exhausted. He'd opened the door for her and gestured her inside, and she'd stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly as he pointed out the various rooms.

Finally, Peter suggested they get some sleep, and she excused herself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She took her duffel bag with her, dug around for something to sleep in, hoping Hiro had packed some sort of pajamas. She changed into a loose tank top and a pair of pajama pants, brushed her teeth, and washed her make-up off her face, before heading back to the living room. The couch was already made up with bedding, so she raised the blanket and slipped in underneath it, stretched her body out, and snuggled into the pillow.

"You're in my bed," accused Peter's voice.

"What?" she replied dumbly.

"I'm taking the couch," he explained. "Your bed's that way," he gestured toward the door of his bedroom.

"Peter, I'm not stealing your bed. I'm the guest, so I should sleep on the couch."

"Claire…"

She didn't give him the chance to persuade her, "Besides, I'm already nice and comfy. I don't think I could make it back there if I tried." When he didn't argue, Claire gave a tiny smile of triumph. "Good night, Peter."

"Night, Claire," he took a few steps toward the bedroom door before pausing and turning back to her. "Hey Claire. Out of curiosity, do you have any other powers? You know, besides healing?"

"Not that I know of," her brows furrowed slightly, "Why?"

Peter ignored her question. "No laser vision? Super strength?"

"No," she giggled sleepily.

"Good," and he was marching back to her. He pulled the blanket off her, picked her up – one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees – carried her into the bedroom, and dropped her on the bed. He pointed an index finger at her and commanded, "Stay."

So she did.

He turned around and started back for the living room but paused in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder, and tossed his own triumphant smile back at her, before shaking his head amusedly. "Sweet dreams, Claire."

---

**A/N: **Whew, glad this chapter's over. I spent the majority of Christmas Eve working on this story, trying to find a way to cover all the information without completely bogging down the chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. A Shelf for Claire

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST  
**Rating:** PG, for now  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Thanks so much to those of you who reviewed! I hope you don't miss the other characters too much because this chapter has nothing but Paire!

**Chapter Three: A Shelf for Claire**

"Good, you're up," Peter greeted her. "Breakfast is almost ready."

She shuffled her way into the kitchen to see what he was cooking. There were plates scattered across the counter, filled with various breakfast foods: eggs, hash browns, sausage, and he was currently using a spatula to scoop bacon out of a frying pan.

"Are you expecting company?" she asked, referring to the abundance of food.

Peter scratched behind his head, "I guess I kind of got carried away. I didn't know what you liked, and all I had in the here was some ramen noodles and a box of stale cereal. So, I ran to the grocery store while you were sleeping."

"And decided to buy the whole store, apparently," she teased, secretly touched that he went through so much trouble for her.

"Nah, I left the pancake mix alone," he replied as he opened various drawers, digging through them, searching for something.

Claire pouted, "but I like pancakes."

"Not my pancakes," his wry comment was accompanied by more digging and opening of drawers.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"A potholder," he answered, now searching through the cabinets. "There are biscuits in the oven, and though I'm sure I've already managed to burn them, I'd like them to still be edible."

"Oh, I'll get it," She offered, already opening the oven door. She reached in, grabbed the pan, and pulled it out. The steaming pan blistered her skin as she turned to Peter and asked breezily, "Where should I put this?"

Peter rushed to her, his expression horrified, "Claire!"

She pretended not to notice his concern, setting the pan down on the only vacant space on the counter, "Is here okay?"

But he was still staring at her, eyes wide. She gave him an indulging smile and held out her hands, palms up, for his inspection. Peter watched, fascinated, as the burns melted away, leaving her petite hands perfect and whole. He reached out and trailed his fingers reverently over the unmarred skin of her hands.

"I don't think I'll ever stop being amazed by this," he breathed. Then, his expression contorted into a frown, "Doesn't it hurt, getting burned like that?"

Claire shrugged one shoulder, "Not really. I've gotten used to it."

"Used to it?" Peter questioned, "Do you get hurt a lot?"

Claire's lips curled into a wry smile, "When I first found out about it, I started testing it to see if it was some kind of fluke. I did all sorts of things: stabbed myself, jumped off bridges, walked through fire." She added lightheartedly, "I even stuck my hand down the garbage disposal."

Peter looked at her in shock before finally making some sort of connection to her words, "It was you. You're the one who really rescued that man from the fire. That was very brave of you," he commended her.

"Not really," she shook her head ruefully, "I knew the fire wouldn't hurt me." She paused and thought about the man in front of her, how he'd thrown himself off a building with no way of knowing he would survive. She smiled at him sincerely, "You're the brave one."

---

Peter cleared the last of his stuff from the bottom drawer of his dresser, "Is this going to be enough room for your stuff?" But he was already moving to the closet, sorting out the empty hangers to the right and pushing his clothes to the left. "You can take the right side of the closet."

"You really don't need to do this," she said. "I can just keep my stuff in my suitcase."

He waved his hand, negligently, "It's fine, Claire."

"I don't want to impose," she pressed.

"You're not," was his simple response. He looked around his room before striding out the door and heading to the bathroom. Claire could hear him bustling around, probably clearing more space for her things.

Sure enough, when she peaked into the bathroom, he was in the process of emptying one of the little shelves in the medicine cabinet.

"Peter?" she inquired, "Why do I need a shelf in the medicine cabinet?"

He glanced over at her and replied with the sarcastic, "For medicine?"

"Peter? You do realize I don't need medicine, right?" She informed him haughtily, "I'm the best doctor around."

He quirked his brow, amused at her tone of voice then nodded indulgently, "I'll vouch for that," which earned him a beaming smile.

After rearranging a few more things, he sighed and conceded, "I know you don't really need the shelf. It's just…" he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "I don't want you to think of yourself as my guest. I want you to feel comfortable here."

She just looked at him, amazed that people like him really existed. On top of everything he'd already done for her, he was now bending over backward to make her feel at home in his apartment.

Peter finished up with the medicine cabinet, then turned back to her, "Come on, I'll help you unpack."

---

Claire pulled things out of her suitcase, sorting her clothes into different piles and occasionally handing Peter a something for him to hang in the closet. When she reached the last item in her luggage, she started laughing, and Peter turned to her curiously. She held the item up for him to see, explaining, "Hiro packed my day planner."

"You keep a planner?" he smirked.

"Hey," she defended, "cheerleaders have a lot to keep track of." She started idly perusing through the book, finally turning it to the current month and looking at all the events she was missing by being here. She started to put it down before a little red circle caught her eye. "Crap."

"What's wrong?"

She snapped the planner shut, "Nothing."

But her reaction made him press the matter, "Claire?"

She could tell him now, or she could tell him later, but either way it was going to be embarrassing as hell. She decided just to get the humiliation over with. "Hiro forgot to pack something, and it's something I really need."

"That's no big deal," he reassured, "I can take you to get whatever it is you need."

---

"So, Claire," he began conversationally, "Do you prefer maxi pads or pantiliners?" He held two different products up for her to see, smirking madly.

She groaned. That's it. She took back every nice thing she had thought about him. Ever since she had stuttered and blushed her way through an explanation about her upcoming period and not having any tampons, he had shown his true colors, and those colors were evil.

"Look, Claire," he said excitedly, "These ones have wings!"

God, this was so humiliating. "We're here for tampons, not pads," she huffed.

"Oh, in that case…" he took a moment to skim the product labels, "do you want plastic applicators or biodegradable? I say go with biodegradable; it's better for the environment."

New mission: she was going to locate someone whose power was manipulating dirt so they could dig her a big hole she could disappear into.

She finally grabbed a box and headed for the check out counter. Peter's smirk never faded as they stood in line and waited their turn to pay. Finally, the guy at the cash register scanned her box of tampons, and Peter pulled a few bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the counter.

"Ah," said the cashier knowingly, "You know you're whipped when you agree to buy tampons for your girl." Peter grinned, not bothering to correct the guy.

The cashier handed Peter his change, leaning in to whisper sagely, "Don't forget to use protection. I know they say women can't get pregnant when they're on their period, but dude, it's not impossible."

Peter turned scarlet, which was just the opportunity Claire needed. If he was allowed to torment her, she could damn well torment him back.

She turned to look up at Peter, "Sweetie, we better get a box of condoms while we're here, just in case."

The cashier guy nodded solemnly, but Peter rushed to deny her, "We don't need condoms."

Claire held back her smirk, instead snuggling up against his side and placing one hand on his chest. "Yes, we do," she insisted. "We finished up the box in your drawer last night."

Peter stared at her, horrified, but she pretended not to notice. Instead, she pulled lightly on his shirt and pouted, "I want cherry-flavored ones."

"Dude, I can hold your place in line if you want to go get some," the cashier guy offered. "They're on aisle four."

"That's not necessary," Peter declined, grabbing the bag that held her tampons and ushering her out of the store.

Claire burst into laughter as soon as they were outside, "Oh, Peter, you should've seen your face."

"I'm going to kill you," he threatened.

"You can't," she pointed out victoriously, "You need me alive to save the world."

"Fine. I'll wait 'til _after_ we save the world, and then I'll kill you,"

"No, you won't," she dismissed, "I'll have grown on you too much by then."

Peter looked down at her out of the corner of his eye, and Claire beamed up at him. He chuckled, "maybe you're right."

When they got back to Peter's apartment, Claire happily took her box of tampons into the bathroom and put it on her shelf in the medicine cabinet.


	4. Just Do It

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13ish, just to be safe (naughty me, I use the f-word)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **I'm on a roll with these updates. I've been writing so much lately that my roommate actually made me dinner and brought it to my room last night.

**Chapter Four: Just Do It**

They sat, sprawled out on the floor, backs propped up against the couch, opened pizza box between them. When Peter had asked her what she wanted on her half of the pizza, she'd told him pineapple. She'd always wanted to try it and thought now was as good a time as any. They each held a plate with a slice of pizza, but Claire looked at hers forlornly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the delicious looking pepperoni on Peter's slices. Slowly, she inched her fingers toward the box.

Peter smacked her hand sharply, "You have your own."

She pouted up at him and whined, "But I don't want my own."

"Tough," he replied without sympathy, "It's your own fault for ordering pineapple."

"But you're the one who neglected to tell me it would be disgusting," she blamed, "So, really, it's your fault."

He grinned before pulling a slice of his pizza from the box and depositing it on her plate, "Happy now?"

She nodded cutely. "So, Peter," she began, taking a bite of the slice he'd given her, "not that I don't enjoy hanging out with you, but don't you have a job or something?"

Peter raised an eyebrow, "Is that your subtle way of calling me a bum?"

"You caught me!" she joked.

"To answer your question…" He sipped his soda before continuing, "I'm retired."

She looked at him skeptically, so Peter elaborated, "I decided to become a fulltime superhero. The pay sucks, but it has some great perks."

She took the bait, "What kind of perks?"

He leaned in close, waggled his eyebrows at her, and answered, "Rescuing damsels in distress."

Claire smiled at his words, feeling her heart flutter just a tiny bit. She turned back to her plate nervously. She fiddled with her napkin before asking, "What did you do before?"

"I was a hospice nurse," he answered and took another bite.

She tilted her head to the side, "What's that?"

He finished chewing, swallowed, and then explained, "I provided in-home care for terminally ill patients."

She pieced together that bit of information with the other things she'd learned about him so far and decided she could easily picture him as a caregiver for sick people. "Do you miss it?"

He took a moment, considering, then answered in the negative. "Nah. Besides, living with you is kind of like hospice nursing: I take care of you; I feed you," he raised his plate and looked pointedly at hers.

She slapped his shoulder playfully.

"So, don't I get any jokes about male nurses?" He grinned at her, but something told her it wasn't genuine, that this might be a sensitive issue for him.

She thought of a dozen jokes she could've made, all of which would've earned self-depreciating chuckles from him, but she didn't want that reaction. Instead, she asked, "You wear scrubs, don't you?"

He nodded, waiting for the punch line.

"Well, you know what they say…" She nudged his arm, continued impishly, "All girls love a man in uniform."

His smile widened, became real. "I think that saying refers more to cops and firemen, _not_ male nurses. Our uniforms are just scrubs that look like pajamas."

She made a big show of checking him out, looking him up and down, before saying wickedly, "I bet _you_ could make scrubs look sexy."

Amused, he asked, "You think so?"

"Only one way to find out," she winked.

---

Claire whistled and catcalled as Peter entered the living room, dressed in his scrubs, one hand scratching behind his head self-consciously. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Quit being a baby and turn around."

He rolled his eyes but started turning.

She sighed dreamily for his benefit, "What I wouldn't give for some one dollar bills."

He was facing her again. "You give dollar bills to strippers, Claire. I'm fully dressed."

Oh, he just made it too easy. Claire smirked deviously, "Not in my mind, you're not."

He burst into laughter. "You're something else, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Eyes still sparkling with amusement, he pointed over his shoulder toward the bedroom. "I'm going to go change before your mind gets any more ideas."

She let him get as far as the bedroom door before calling out, "Hey Peter! You wouldn't happen to have a stethoscope, would you? We can play doctor!"

He turned around and studied her. "I think I can dig one up. How long has it been since your last physical?"

And her smirk fled. She gaped at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks as he gave her a little wink and closed the bedroom door behind him.

---

The night air was cool and refreshing after being cooped up all day. They had lounged about the apartment listlessly until Peter had finally went to the bedroom and retrieved two of his jackets. He tossed one at her and told her to put it on as he slid his arms into the other one.

He'd brought her up the emergency stairs and onto the roof of his apartment building, and now they sat side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge of the building.

Claire was the first to break their companionable silence. "When did you find out you were… different?"

"I think I've always known," he answered seriously, "But it wasn't until recently I knew for sure." She nodded understandingly, signaling for him to continue his story. So he did, a bit wryly, "At first, I thought I could fly."

"Fly?" Claire questioned, "Isn't that what your brother does?"

Peter affirmed, "Yeah, I guess I'd just been unintentionally absorbing his powers."

She smiled at him, "So how did you figure that out?"

"I jumped off a building."

She gasped, "What?"

"I was trying to fly," he explained negligently.

"I'm guessing it worked? Seeing how you're still alive and all?"

"Not really," he chuckled, "Nathan had to catch me."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and shook her head from side to side. "All this time, I've been feeling guilty about you diving off that building to save me, and now I learn that it's just your hobby."

He laughed, "You have no idea how close to the truth you are. Jumping off a building wasn't my first flight attempt, just my stupidest."

"It's not _that_ stupid," Claire comforted, "I told you I jumped off a bridge, right? I thought it was kind of cool."

"For you, I imagine it would be cool," he replied, "but for the rest of us? Not so much."

After a minute of looking out at the surrounding buildings, she turned back to him and said, "I think you included yourself in the wrong group." He gave her a confused look, so she elaborated, "You said jumping would be cool for me but not for the 'rest of you.' But _you_ can use my healing."

"Meaning?"

She rolled her eyes when he didn't get it, "_Meaning_… it could be cool for you, too."

He shrugged, agreed to her point, "When you look at it that way…"

They both sat in silence, taking in the view. Claire thought everything looked so beautiful from this perspective, with both the night and distance cloaking the city's flaws. She looked down, taking in the small yard neighboring this particular side of the building. There was a little tree, and she thought she could make out a bench. She idly thought that if she were to jump, the grass would make for a relatively soft landing. And once the idea was in her head, she couldn't get it out.

On near impulse, she rose to her feet and looked down at Peter, "Let's do it."

His eyebrows shot up, "Do what?"

"Let's jump," she urged eagerly. Her nerves tingled with anticipation.

He looked at her disbelievingly, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Come on, Peter. It'll be fun," she cajoled, nearly singing the last word.

"Fun?" he asked incredulously, and though she nodded excitedly, he wasn't convinced.

"Please?" she begged, pouting at him prettily.

He shook his head, refusing to budge, "No way."

Claire's shoulders drooped, and she looked down at her feet dejectedly. For some reason his refusal disappointed her, made her feel like he didn't trust her, which she knew was silly. Him not wanting to jump had nothing to do with her; he just didn't want to break his body smashing headlong into the ground, and when she thought of it like that, she felt stupid for asking him to jump with her in the first place.

His hand on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts; he must've stood up without her noticing. She timidly raised her eyes to his and saw that he was looking down at her, expression soft. "Okay, let's do this,"

"Peter…"

He shook his head, "Come on, before I lose my nerve."

She nearly protested, called the whole thing off, but he was looking at her so intently, so _trustingly_, and she _so_ wanted to earn that trust, to show him that she'd protect him like he'd protected her.

"Okay," she whispered, "Count of three?" He nodded his consent.

"One…"

Peter's eyes locked on hers fiercely.

"Two…"

He stepped closer to her, nearly brushing her chest with his.

"Three."

He wrapped his arms around her, yanked her to him, and threw them both off the edge.

…And they were falling, clutching each other desperately; her head was buried in his chest, and some distant part of her heard their screams.

And then it was over. The landing knocked the wind from her, and it took her a minute to regain her bearings. Peter still had one arm around her, and his legs were tangled up with hers, one of which she could feel was broken. She felt him push himself up, and then sat up so she could right her leg. Peter cricked his neck to the side, and she saw some blood trickling down his arm. The whole situation was just so surreal, and she couldn't help giggling, "Your arm bone's sticking out."

He let her push the bone back into place before questioning amusedly, "Arm bone?" She shrugged. "I believe that was my _ulna_."

"My mistake, Nurse Peter," she teased.

"What the fuck just happened?" The new voice made them both freeze, and their heads turned simultaneously to view their witness.

"Simone," Peter acknowledged.

---

The three of them now sat around Peter's kitchen table. It had taken a while for Peter to calm down Simone, to convince her that neither of them was hurt. Apparently, she was coming by to check on Peter after she'd learned that he was back. She seemed a bit perturbed with Peter for not calling her, but he just returned with a quick apology and said he'd been busy helping Claire settle into the apartment, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best thing for him to say.

Between the two of them, Claire and Peter relayed the story of Peter saving her at Homecoming, Claire's powers, and the subsequent events. There was an awkward point somewhere in the middle of their conversation when Simone mentioned their living arrangements, and Claire responded dumbly, "I sleep in Peter's bed," which earned her a horrified look from Simone and an amused smirk from Peter.

They finally ended their tale with an explanation for why she and Peter had jumped off the top of his apartment building.

"You jumped…for fun?" Simone asked uncomprehendingly.

Claire winced, "It seemed like a good idea at the time…"

"It _was_ a good idea," Peter reassured her gently, "It was _cool_." She smiled back at him, remembering the conversation that led up to their jump.

It wasn't much longer before Simone mentioned how late it was and said she needed to get home. When Peter returned from walking her out, he wore a little smile, and asked her if she would be okay staying at the apartment by herself for a little while tomorrow night since Simone had invited him to dinner. Claire smiled and assured him she'd be fine.

She didn't understand at all why she suddenly felt so queasy.

---

**A/N: **And Simone makes her appearance. I have this huge, irrational loathing for her. I just know it's going to be hard to write her without making her seem like a snobby, home-wrecking bitch. Oh, and to anyone who picked up on the sexual vibe in the jump scene… I swear it wasn't intentional. Heh. Freud would have fun psychoanalyzing me.


	5. Razor Burn

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13ish, just to be safe  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **So this is up later than I expected, but Peter kicked and screamed, refusing to let me write his date with Simone. Read to find out which one of us won.

**Chapter Five: **

Claire stood in the middle of Isaac's studio, gazing around at his newest collection of prophecies. He'd called Peter that morning, said he had something to show him. Apparently, fate had scheduled Peter for another rescue mission.

The first painting Isaac had led them to was the one containing Peter, who seemed to be stepping out of a cement wall, and the one after that featured a blonde woman in an orange jumpsuit, pressed against a similar looking wall, her eyes wide with terror. Claire felt an irrational swell of jealousy come over her. She'd been under the impression that Peter was her own personal hero, and she was disappointed to learn she'd have to share him, which in turn made her feel like a self-centered brat for not wanting him to save anyone but her.

And then Isaac showed them the final painting. The woman, no longer wearing orange, stood, covered in blood, eyes fierce. Her arms were spread wide, acting as a barrier between some unknown force and the petite girl peeking out from behind her.

"That's why I have to save this woman," Peter realized out loud, "She's going to help us protect Claire."

And just like that, the jealousy was gone, leaving her secure in the knowledge that she was still his first priority. She'd analyze why that was so important to her later. And it was definitely time for her to lighten the mood. "No offense, Isaac, but can't you paint something happy?"

"He painted you waking me up," Peter answered. "Wasn't that happy enough?"

"Speaking of which," Isaac began, "did Sleeping Beauty ever get his kiss?"

"Nope," she smirked.

Peter let out a sigh of dismay before accusing, "She's being a tease."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but that only encouraged their laughter.

"So," Isaac finally asked, "how's living with this guy?"

She glanced over at Peter's expectant face, "It's not too bad. He could learn to put down the toilet seat, though."

Peter arched his eyebrow, replied with the defiant, "It's _my_ toilet seat, in _my_ bathroom, and I'll do whatever I please with it."

"It doesn't matter _whose_ it is," she argued. "There's an unwritten rule: when a woman is in the house, you put the toilet seat down. Besides, it might as well be mine. That's _my_ toothbrush by the sink, _my_ razor in the shower…"

"_Your_ tampons in the cabinet…" he offered, snickering.

"_And_," she drew out the word, continuing as if he hadn't said anything, "as soon as we leave here, we're going to buy me some conditioner. I swear, I don't know how your hair is so pretty without it. Oh, and I've been craving some ice-cream, so…"

"No!" he denied, cutting her off, "I'm never taking you to the store again!"

Her face became the picture of innocence, her voice laced with sweetness. "What's the matter, Peter? Is this about the condoms? I was just trying to make sure you were safe."

"Don't you mean that '_we_ were safe'?" he corrected, "I seem to recall you wanting those condoms for the both of us." Peter's cheeks flushed the moment the words were out of his mouth, and though Claire was sure hers didn't look much better, she couldn't help giggling at him.

Isaac smirked, "I see you two are getting along well."

She'd continued to tease Peter about condoms and safe sex until he'd finally threatened her with dish duty, to which she'd responded, nonplussed, that she'd be stuck with the dishes anyway since he'd be at dinner with _Simone_.

The comment about his upcoming date had been meant as a childish taunt; instead, it sucked all the humor from the room, and she was left smiling awkwardly, looking back and forth at Isaac's clenched jaw and Peter's unrepentant stare. They hadn't stayed much longer than that. Their visit ended with Isaac telling them he'd call once he painted something a bit more conclusive about the woman's identity and location.

---

"Are you excited about the big date?" Claire asked, just to break the silence. They'd been sitting on the couch, fighting over the remote for most of the day, and Claire was bored.

He shrugged, attention focused on the screen, offered her the absentminded, "I guess."

She tried again, "What time are you supposed to meet her?"

"Seven."

A quick glance at the clock, "Peter, don't you need to get ready?"

"Nah," he replied after he too checked the time, "all I have to do is change."

She looked at him, appalled, then grabbed the remote from his hand and turned the television off. "Up," she ordered. He just stared at her, so she repeated, "Up!"

He hesitantly rose to his feet, looking at her like she was mad, but she didn't offer any explanations, merely turned him and marched him into the bathroom.

"You take a shower, and I'll go pick out your clothes," she said, already backing her way out of the bathroom.

"Claire, I _can_ dress myself, you know."

She scoffed and shut the door.

---

When Peter finally came out of the bathroom dressed in his bathrobe, she took one look at him and pushed him back through the doorway, telling him, "A fresh shave is a must."

She wasn't sure why he was letting her boss him around like this. Claire liked to think it was because of her irresistible charm but knew that, more than likely, he indulged her because she amused him. Oh well, she'd take what she could get.

"Fuck!"

Her head whipped around, surprised at his outburst. She hurried to the bathroom to check on him and fought to hold back her smile at how frustrated he was over the little nick on his chin.

"Oh, Peter…" she shook her head in amusement, watched as his cut sealed and disappeared.

He glared at her, "This is your fault. All this fuss is making me nervous."

She rolled her eyes and hopped up to sit on the counter. She took the razor from his hand and gestured to him, "Come here." He hesitated before leaning into her, brushing her bare knees with the terrycloth of his robe, and she dipped the razor under the faucet before shaking off the excess water. Lifting the blade to press gently against his skin, she ran a long, even stroke over his jaw.

As she rinsed the blade again, Peter teased, "Do you have a lot of experience shaving men's faces?"

"Sure, I spent everyday after school practicing on the football players," she replied sarcastically, bringing the razor back up to his skin. She paused, feeling a little apprehensive at Peter's wide smirk. "What?"

"Nothing," he said it in a way that told her it definitely _was _something, and it didn't help that he was _still smirking_. She glared at him, waiting for him to crack, which he soon did, innuendo dripping from his words, "You _practiced_ on the football players, huh?"

Her jaw dropped in a combination of disbelief and mock outrage. "_You_ have a dirty mind," she accused.

"Says the girl who wanted to stuff dollar bills down my pants."

When she couldn't think of a comeback, she cupped his face with the pad of her thumb and tips of her fingers, tilted his head to the side, and chastised, "Hush, or I'll lose my concentration," then glided the razor along the underside of his chin. After every few strokes, she trailed her fingers over his skin, making sure she hadn't left any stray hairs.

When she was finally satisfied with her work, she wet her fingers and smoothed them over his cheeks, wiping away the remaining traces of shaving cream. She glanced up at him and flushed at the intense way he was looking at her, suddenly feeling embarrassed for the liberties she'd taken with him. They'd been living in their own little bubble for the past few days, so it was only natural for them to become comfortable with each other, but maybe she'd crossed the line with this shaving business.

She broke eye contact, suddenly aware of just how close they were, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. And it was just too much.

"You better get dressed," she told him, refusing to meet his eyes. "I laid your clothes out on the bed." He nodded, stepping away from her, and she slipped down off the counter, making a hasty exit. After a few minutes away from him, her nerves were back under control, but she still felt foolish.

When Peter finally came out of his room, he was dressed in the slacks and dress shirt she'd picked out for him, hair slicked back from his face. He looked at her expectantly, and when she didn't say anything, he prodded, "Well, do I meet with your approval?"

And it was like that awkward moment in the bathroom had never happened, and maybe for Peter, it hadn't. Either way, Claire was relieved to be back in familiar territory.

"I think you need one last touch." She strolled up to him and tousled his hair, letting his bangs fall around his eyes. "Perfect."

---

Claire curled up on the couch, head resting on the arm, as she stared at the television screen for what seemed like the millionth time that day. She'd already eaten dinner and washed the dishes, and now she was just killing time until she was tired enough to sleep. She sighed, changing the channel again. Whoever invented the concept of infomercials should be shot.

A noise at the door caught her attention, and a moment later, Peter was opening the door and entering the apartment.

"Hey, you," she smiled. "I wasn't expecting you home tonight."

Peter locked the door behind him. "I didn't feel right about leaving you home alone."

She rolled her eyes, a little exasperated, "I'm a big girl, Peter. You could've stayed out if you wanted."

He waved a hand at her, "It's no big deal." He started heading for the kitchen, "Anyway, I got you something."

Her brows furrowed, finally noticing the plastic bag he was carrying. "What is it?" She got up from the couch and trailed after him, curious as to what he might've thought to get her.

Peter sat the bag down on the kitchen counter and started pulling the items out one by one. The first thing he pulled out was a tub of ice-cream. "You said you were craving some when we were at Isaac's," he explained.

She smiled up at him, "You remembered that?"

He nodded and pulled out the second item, holding it up for her to see.

"Chocolate syrup?" she questioned. "You know chocolate syrup is only good for one thing, don't you?"

His brow arched as his lips curled into a suggestive smirk. "No, I _don't_ know. Why don't you explain it to me."

She returned his smirk and lowered her voice to a sultry whisper, "Chocolate syrup is only good for…" she paused, never letting her gaze waver, then finished, "making Claire fat."

He chuckled at her antics, "You're not fat."

"Only because I don't eat a lot of chocolate syrup," she shot back. "You just proved my point."

"I didn't prove anything," he denied before handing her the last item from the bag.

She turned the jar around and read the label. "Maraschino cherries," she nodded approvingly, "A sundae just isn't a sundae without these."

"And I know how much you _love_ the flavor of cherries." He grinned at her, and it took her a moment to get the joke, to realize he was teasing her about the flavored condoms she'd requested.

She giggled, "This was really sweet of you, Peter. Thanks."

"Your welcome," he smiled back at her.

She couldn't resist making one last teasing comment. "But I would've been just as happy with the condoms."

---

**A/N 2: **So this chapter didn't turn out anything like what I'd originally planned, but I think I like it better this way. Originally, I'd written in Peter's date with Simone, but it was really bad, stilted and awkward, and it wasn't just because of their lack of chemistry.


	6. A Date with a Cheerleader

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13ish, just to be safe  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **I thought it was Claire's turn. You'll see what I mean.

**Chapter Six: A Date with a Cheerleader**

"What are you reading?" Claire asked Peter, who was sitting at the kitchen table perusing the pages of a newspaper.

He kept his eyes on the page, "I'm looking at movie showings."

Not the answer she wanted. "Are you taking Simone out again?"

"No," his attention still focused on the paper, "I'm taking _you_ out."

Claire could've sworn her heart stopped. "Me?"

He finally raised his eyes to look at her, "Sure. I thought it could be like a 'thank you' for helping me get ready the other night."

She felt like an idiot for thinking his invitation could be anything more than gratitude. "I thought the ice-cream was my 'thank you.'"

He shrugged, his voice coy, "If you don't want to go, we don't have to…"

"I want to!" She was a little embarrassed at how eager her interruption was.

But Peter just grinned, "Okay, then." He put down the newspaper and rose from the table. Turning her so her back was to him, he clasped his hands over her shoulders and began maneuvering her toward the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" She asked, a little bewildered.

He ignored her, ushering her through the doorway. When they had finally stopped and she was facing him again, he smirked at her and repeated the command she'd given him, "Take a shower, and I'll go pick out your clothes."

She giggled, shaking her head at him in amusement.

He smiled as he backed out of the bathroom. "Let me know when it's time for me to shave your legs."

Her giggling stopped abruptly, "What?"

"_You_ shaved _me_, so it's only fair I should get to return the favor," he explained.

"Too bad for you," she replied. "I'm not shaving my legs today."

Peter gasped, pretending to be appalled, and once again mocked her with her own words, "But Claire, a fresh shave is a must."

"There's an exception," she countered, then finished triumphantly, "A girl never shaves her legs before a first date."

"What kind of rule is that?"

"It's to keep her from being tempted," she explained.

"Tempted to do what?" he arched a suggestive eyebrow.

She felt her cheeks turn pink, "You know," she floundered, "_tempted_." When he wasn't satisfied, she rolled her eyes, answered bluntly, "A girl won't jump into bed with a guy if she has hairy legs."

"So let me get this straight," he gave her a devilish smirk, "You can't shave your legs; otherwise you'll be tempted to jump into bed with me? Is that it, Claire?"

"No!"

His smirk grew more devious, "So you're not… _tempted_?"

"Of course not!" she squeaked.

He responded with mock consideration, "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Claire. I'm just trying to figure out what my chances are of getting lucky."

She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed that he was now besting her at her own game, and responded heatedly, "Not very good, because I'm not shaving!"

When she went to get dressed after her shower, she saw that Peter had indeed picked out clothes for her. Her red and white uniform was laid out on the bed with a note that said: _I always wanted to date a cheerleader._

---

They were finally sitting in the darkened theater, watching the previews, waiting for the movie to start.

Peter leaned his head over to her, "I finally managed to snag a date with a cheerleader."

"Finally?" she questioned.

He shrugged, explained self-depreciatingly, "I was a bit of a geek in high school. Cheerleaders – girls, for that matter – never really looked my way."

"But you're so hot!" she blurted, then closed her eyes in mortification.

He just chuckled, "Tell _them_ that."

She smiled at him, and they both turned their faces back to the screen. A moment later, she heard Peter give an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arm up into the air, before lowering it to rest along the back of her seat. She shook her head at him, "Lame."

He pretended to be affronted, "What are you talking about? Back in my day, that was a foolproof move."

She grinned. "I think your 'foolproof move' is the reason you had a problem getting girls."

He was about to retort when some guy from the row in front of them turned around and shushed them. They shared a conspiratorial look before turning to watch the movie.

Claire waited for him to remove his arm from around her shoulders, and the longer he kept it there, the more nervous she felt. She sat stiffly in her seat, trying to figure out if he'd left it there intentionally.

She glanced over at him, but his eyes were focused on the screen, so she thought that he might not even realize his arm was still around her. And she didn't want to say anything and risk coming off as some nervous kid who couldn't handle a guy touching her.

Instead, she nudged the back of her head against his arm, discreetly bringing his attention to its position. He looked over at her, and she again waited for him to move, but he merely gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before turning back to the movie.

Claire finally allowed herself to relax, thinking that if he wasn't bothered, then neither was she; though she idly wondered if she'd been wrong to doubt his 'foolproof move.'

---

Claire had talked Peter into taking the subway home instead of a cab, citing that she'd never ridden one and really wanted to see what it was like. He'd agreed easily enough, ushering her through the hoards of people, keeping a protective hand on the small of her back until they were safely on the train.

They stood in the middle of the packed train, holding on to one of the poles. Claire looked around, taking in her surroundings, her eyes finally resting on a couple of teenage boys sitting on one of the benches. They kept looking at her, then turning back to each other, snickering. One of them winked at her, and the other put two fingers up to his mouth and flicked his tongue between them. Her nose scrunched up, disgusted, and she jumped when she felt a hand at her hip.

A quick glance told her it was just Peter, who was glaring at the boys menacingly. He used his hand on her hip to pull her into him and brought his other arm around her to grasp the pole, providing a barrier between her and the boys. Though she knew Peter was just looking out for her, she couldn't help thinking that he was staking his claim on her, which was absurd but made her kind of giddy all the same.

She gazed up at him and cooed, "My hero."

He turned to her, letting his glare fade into a grin, "And don't you forget it."

Claire had thought having his arm around her at the movies was a little nerve-racking, but it was nothing compared to this. In the theater, he'd barely been touching her, but now, her back was pressed up against the pole, his arms caged around her body, and his hand was still firmly, immovably fixed on her hip. His hand was warm through the denim of her jeans, and she could feel his thumb resting on the bare skin that her shirt didn't quite cover. And he didn't seem effected by it at all.

"You know," he began, his voice conversational, "I was on the subway when I learned I was supposed to save you."

"Really?" she responded, trying to focus on his voice instead of his hand.

He nodded, "Remember Hiro? His future self came back in time to give me a message. Save the cheerleader, save the world."

"Nice catchphrase."

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked accusingly.

She gave him a sweet smile, "Only in a good way."

---

They walked down the hall toward Peter's apartment, and her nerves were still buzzing from being so close to him on the train.

"So, how was your first date with a cheerleader?" she asked, smiling.

He grinned down at her and joked, "Well, I must've done something right since I got you to come home with me."

"I bet you regret not buying those condoms."

He countered, "I bet you regret not shaving your legs."

They arrived at the door, and Peter pulled out his keys to unlock it.

She chastised him, "Aren't you forgetting something?" He turned back to look at her questioningly, so she elaborated, "You're supposed to kiss the girl goodnight at the door."

She'd meant it as a joke, just one more flirtatious comment to add to her rapidly growing pile. But then she saw him glance down at her lips, and her teasing smile faded, leaving her lips parted with anticipation. She felt naked and bare, like her every secret was plainly displayed on her face. He was looking at her so intently, and when he started leaning down to her, she let her eyes flutter closed, heart pounding as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

"Will that do?" he whispered huskily, and she nodded, eyes still closed.

Oh God, what was she getting herself into?


	7. The Various Kinds of Touching

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST, some Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13ish, just to be safe  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **I just want to take this time to thank all you wonderful people who have reviewed this story. I live for your comments! Really, I check my reviews compulsively, and I love knowing there are people out there who appreciate all the hard work I'm putting into this. And in reference to the first half of this chapter, I have no shame. And as for the thing as a whole, it's bipolar.

**Chapter Seven: The Various Kinds of Touching**

Claire was lying on her back, head propped up on the arm of the couch, absentmindedly toying with the hem of her shorts. Peter sat at the other end, reading some book, the title of which, she couldn't quite make out. Books sucked, she decided, and it irked her that he was paying so much attention to a sucky book rather than her.

"My feet are cold," Claire whined.

Peter looked down at her feet and said, "So go put on some socks," before turning back to his book.

She pouted, "But they're all the way in the bedroom."

He kept his eyes on his page, "Then I guess you're out of luck."

Hmm. Maybe she could convince him to go get them for her if she asked _really _nicely. Her voice sweet as honey, she nearly sang, "_Oh Peter_…"

"Not gonna happen, Claire," he cut her off, and his eyes were _still_ on that stupid book.

She huffed, and then resorted to the only idea she had left: annoying him into submission. She put the soles of her feet on his thigh and _pushed_. When he didn't react, she pushed again, a little more insistent, but he just kept on with his reading. She began kneading the balls of her feet into his thigh, determined to make him stop ignoring her.

Finally, he cracked. After putting his book down, he grabbed her feet and pulled them into his lap, then raised the bottom of his shirt and tucked it around her feet to warm them up. "Are you satisfied?"

She nodded at him, feeling a little impish. Oh, she was most definitely satisfied. Her feet were pressed up against the bare skin of his abs, his surprisingly firm abs, and _why_ was he picking up the book?

She was a little disgruntled about her plan not working but decided she'd just have to try harder. She pressed her feet into the warm flesh of his belly.

"Stop squirming," he reprimanded, but she could see a hint of a smile on his lips. She held still long enough for him to turn another page and then rubbed her foot along his abdomen. His hand reached down and clasped over her feet to prevent them from moving, "Claire," he warned.

She fought to hold in her giggles, watched as he turned another page, and then wiggled her toes. Peter let out a strangled noise, and Claire gaped at him, "Did you just _giggle_?"

"No," he denied, keeping his eyes locked resolutely on the book.

She could feel her smile widening as she gleefully teased, "Yes, you did. You giggled!"

"I did no such thing," he insisted, but Claire could see a faint blush creeping into his cheeks.

And realization dawned, "Are you ticklish?"

"Not even a bit," and he was trying so hard to keep his voice devoid of emotion.

She sat up so she could reach him and poked him in the ribs. When he cracked a grin, she smiled in triumph, "You are!" Getting his attention was going to be so much easier now.

She glided her fingers along his side, and he arched away from her, telling her to "Cut it out." So, of course, she did it again. He grabbed her hand to make her stop, "I mean it, Claire."

Instead of listening to him, she reached her free hand down to squeeze the sides of his knee, and when he seized that hand, too, she started wiggling her feet again. He looked at her, exasperated, "Do you want me to tie you up?"

Her lips curled into a wicked smirk, "Depends. What do you plan on doing with me once you do?"

He didn't take her bait. "I plan on throwing you in the closet where you can't bother me anymore."

She pouted, a bit put out, "If you do, I'll scream."

He shook his head at her, "You wouldn't dare."

She raised her eyebrow at him before opening her mouth, prepared to show him she wasn't bluffing. He snapped a hand over her mouth before any sound could come out. He was smirking at her, and wanting nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face, she flicked her tongue across his palm.

He ripped his hand away, "Did you just _lick_ me?" She giggled at his incredulous expression, a little proud of herself. He narrowed his eyes at her when she wouldn't stop laughing, "Oh, you're in for it, now."

He made good on his threat, reaching in to tickle her side. She grabbed his hand, but he was already moving in with the other, running his fingers along her ribs, making her laugh even harder. She arched away from him, trying to squirm out of his reach, but he pressed in without mercy, darting his hands along her ribs, hips, and down to her knees, until she finally fell onto her back, and _still_ he pressed.

She curled up in a ball on reflex, trying to keep him away from her torso, but he clasped his hands around her calves and yanked, straightening her legs, before moving to straddle her so she couldn't curl them back up.

"Do you give?" he demanded.

She was laughing so hard and having more than a little trouble catching her breath, but she responded defiantly, "Never!" She tried reaching her hands toward him to retaliate, but he grabbed her wrists and used one hand to hold them captive above her head, then resumed tickling her with his free hand.

He asked again, more insistent, "_Now_ do you give?"

She shook her head in refusal, squirming against his hand, trying to pull her own hands free. Her shirt had ridden up, and his fingers danced across her bare skin ruthlessly, until she was nearly crying from laughing so hard, and she finally conceding defeat, "Okay, okay! I give!"

He continued to torment her, racing his fingers down her thigh and back up again, "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Her eyes were clinched shut, and she called out desperately, "I give!" And finally, his fingers relented. She sucked in deep breaths and let out a few stray laughs, trying to regain control of her body. Chest still heaving, she looked up at Peter, preparing to chastise him for tickling her, but her words died in her throat. He was still looming over her, holding her wrists firmly over her head, and the hand that had been tickling her was now splayed across her ribcage, his thumb idly caressing her skin. He was looking at her like he'd never seen her before, "Claire…"

And then the phone rang, and Peter jumped to his feet as if he'd been burned. He stared at her with wide eyes before rushing off to answer the phone. She sat up, pulled her shirt back down, and then caught sight of the object resting innocently on the other end of the couch. She picked it up and thought a bit ruefully, _"At_ _least I got him to abandon his book."_

---

When Peter finally returned to the living room, he wouldn't meet her eyes, looking around at everything but her.

"That was Isaac," he explained, and if she wasn't mistaken, he seemed a little nervous. "He called to tell us that Hiro and Ando finally made it to New York." Claire nodded her head at him, which he probably didn't see since he still wasn't looking at her. "He said he has some more paintings to show us, so… yeah…" he trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and if Claire wasn't so nervous herself, she would've been amused.

She finally took pity on him and excused herself to take a shower, which incidentally gave her time to think over what had happened. It seemed like they'd had a moment, that maybe he'd wanted to…

But Claire wouldn't finish the thought. He had been so horrified by what had happened – not surprised – _horrified_. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that she'd read the situation all wrong. And even if she hadn't, that awful expression on his face was a clear enough indication that he didn't _actually_ want her. He was dating that Simone woman, right? So what would he want with a kid like her?

---

She'd taken extra time in the shower and even more hiding out in the bedroom, but she finally decided she was being silly and ventured back into the living room to face him. He was sitting on the couch, holding his down turned head in his hands, and she wanted more than anything to make the awkwardness go away.

She slowly made her way to him and picked up the forgotten book before sitting down beside him. "You know," she began, "I've read some of this."

He looked over at her, "Yeah?"

She nodded, "My friend Zack bought me a copy off the internet."

Peter looked down at the copy of _Activating Evolution _that she held in her hands, "Did he know about you?"

Again, she nodded, then continued with fondness, "He was my best friend, maybe even my only friend. He actually gave me the book the day of Homecoming, right after I found out I'd won Homecoming Queen."

Peter finally gave her a small smile, "I thought you said you don't win too many popularity contests."

"I don't. It was an un-popularity contest," she explained, grinning in remembrance of Zach's words. "My old friends, the popular crowd, sort of exiled me. So Zach campaigned for me and got all the 'unpopular' people to vote for me."

Peter looked a little amused by her story, "Why were you exiled?"

"It was nothing," she replied, trying to act casual. "I just wrecked our star quarterback's car, and he wasn't able to play in the big game."

Peter's eyebrows rose, but he didn't ask her to tell the story, instead settling on, "It was kind of lousy for them to be upset with you over an accident."

Claire grew silent, her gaze falling to the floor, and then, in a timid whisper, "It wasn't an accident."

When Peter didn't respond, she glanced up to see his stunned expression, and she suddenly regretted saying anything. She honestly didn't know why she had. Maybe she was thinking about how frustrated she'd been with the whole situation: the lack of proof, everyone blaming her…

"Claire?" the sound of her name broke her reverie.

She shook her head and started to get up, "It's nothing," but his hand on her shoulder stopped her, and the expression on his face was so _gentle_, so _caring_, and she choked back a sob, "I just didn't want him to hurt anyone again."

Peter's voice was soft when he asked her, "Claire, did he hurt you?" and then "Did he force you?"

She gave a derisive snort and shook her head, "No, he killed me before he had the chance." At her words, Peter's grip on her shoulder tightened. She closed her eyes, stubbornly holding back her tears. "I woke up on a lab table… completely cut open…" and the tears were coming, and her lips were quivering, and she was so embarrassed that he had to see her like this.

"Oh, Claire," He tried to wrap his arm around her, but she shrugged him off, not wanting his pity, but Peter wouldn't have it. He hauled her into his lap and cradled her against his chest, and she finally broke, burying her face into the crook of his neck, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and crying out all the tears she'd been holding back. Brody, missing her family, losing Zach – she cried about it all. She cried until all the pent up tension had drained out of her body.

And through it all, Peter held her, running his fingers through her hair, stroking her back, murmuring soothing words in her ear. She wasn't able to make out what he was saying, but knew they were the best words she'd ever heard.

When her tears had finally subsided, she kept her face pressed against his neck, too self-conscious to face him yet. "Sorry I broke down on you like this."

"Don't be," he whispered back, "I can think of worse things than having a lap full of beautiful girl."

Her grip on his shirt tightened, and she smiled, _He thinks I'm beautiful._


	8. I Like the Way You Smell

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST, some Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Thanks to all the great people who reviewed! You are my favorite people in the world! So this chapter has plot stuff in it. Yes, believe it or not, there's more to this story than Paire fluff. It wound up being a little short, but oh well. And in case you didn't know, Shazam is from Captain Marvel.

**Chapter Eight: I Like the Way You Smell**

"Aim for the heart!" Ando shouted.

"Get him, Hiro!" encouraged Isaac.

Peter and Claire watched with wide eyes as Hiro flailed about, hacking away at the eight-foot tall drawing of a dinosaur taped to Isaac's wall. He was shrieking wildly, permeating the air with his battle cries, and Ando and Isaac were nearly crying from laughing so hard.

Peter furrowed his brows, "Is he holding a lightsaber?"

Ando wiped at his eyes and nodded, "He wanted a real sword, but I convinced him to practice with a toy first. You know, baby steps."

Isaac chuckled and nodded his approval, "Good move. I can't tell you how many times I've seen him hit himself with that thing."

"Shazam!"

Isaac and Ando doubled over, bursting into renewed laughter. When there was a knock at the door, Isaac stumbled away to answer it, still laughing.

Hiro waved around the toy lightsaber, smacking it against the dinosaur drawing, when the tape came loose and the paper fell down over his head.

"Unbelievable," Ando shook his head, dumfounded, "The dinosaur is made of paper and it still beat him." Claire giggled and watched Hiro turn in circles, struggling to get free of the paper.

"Guys?" Isaac called out to get their attention, "We have a visitor."

---

Their visitor had come in proffering a sticky note, saying he didn't know whom else to turn to for help. He'd introduced himself as Mohinder Suresh, and as soon as he'd seen Peter, he'd apologized for not believing him when they'd last met.

He'd proceeded to tell them the story of his father's research, finally hooking up the laptop he carried and showing them a list of names, telling them how his father had found a way to locate people with special abilities.

Ando pointed to the screen, "Hiro, your name is on here." Hiro leaned in to see for himself.

"Mine, too," said Isaac.

"I'm sorry to tell you this," Mohinder began, "but I believe someone is out to kill the people on this list. The names that are highlighted were all victims of the same killer."

A vision of the shadowed man who had attacked her at Homecoming immediately popped into her head. "This killer… do you think he's the same guy who came after me?" Claire asked.

"I don't know," answered Peter, "Your name's not on the list. Neither is mine, for that matter."

"It's possible that this list is incomplete," conceded Mohinder. "I sent a copy to the FBI, but they refuse to take it seriously, which is why I need your help warning these people."

"The woman I painted," Isaac began, "Could she be one of them?"

Mohinder looked at him questioningly, "What woman?"

Isaac gestured for everyone to follow him, explaining to Mohinder the nature of his ability. Claire gazed up at the paintings, paying special attention to the ones she hadn't seen yet.

"The best I can figure is that Hiro and Peter are supposed to meet up with this guy," he pointed at the black man in one of the paintings, "and save _her_," then pointed to the woman in the orange jumpsuit. Peter had moved in close, carefully studying all of the images.

"But who is she?" questioned Mohinder.

Isaac sighed and gave a little shrug, "We don't know. Going off her clothes, I'd say she was in prison or something."

Peter looked at Isaac over his shoulder, "So how are we going to find her?" He looked around at everyone, waiting for someone to come up with a plan.

"Ando can do it!" Hiro suddenly yelled, and everyone cast expectant looks at a surprised Ando, who didn't seem to agree with Hiro at all. But Hiro was nodding his head emphatically. "Clack, clack, clack. On computer," he mimed typing on a keyboard, then turned to Ando and let out a string of Japanese.

Ando listened before nodding his agreement. "Hiro says to use the computer to see if any of the women on the list are in jail," Ando translated, already heading back to the laptop.

"Ando is computer meijin," Hiro bragged.

"Meijin?" Claire asked.

"Hai, meijin," he replied, and when he saw that she still didn't understand, he furrowed his brows and fumbled to clarify, "Ano… ano… master! Ando is computer _master_!"

While Ando typed away at the keys, the others stood around, waiting for him to come up with some sort of answer.

Isaac finally broke the silence, smiling over at Claire, "Nice jacket."

She instinctively looked down at the long jacket she was wearing, "It's Peter's."

Isaac grinned, "I never would've guessed."

Peter looked over at her and smirked, "It does kind of swallow her."

"I like it." Claire folded her arms as if hugging the jacket to her and then smiled at Peter, "It smells like you."

"Did you know there is a strong connection between scents and sexual attraction?" Mohinder asked, and Claire could feel the blush rushing into her cheeks. "When a female is pleased by a male's smell, it often indicates that the two are compatible reproductive partners."

Oh God, she was surely going to die of embarrassment. Isaac was snickering, Peter was smirking, and Hiro was… well, Hiro didn't understand a word of what Mohinder just said, meaning that he was the only person she was going to show her face to for a very long time.

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but Ando spoke before the words could leave her mouth. His face was closed off, his voice solemn, "I think I know who the woman is."

Everyone headed over to Ando, who gestured toward the mug shot on the computer screen. There she was, the blonde woman from the painting. Niki Sanders.

Hiro turned to Ando with wide eyes, "Stripper girlfriend?"

---

She watched as everyone went to Hiro and Peter, giving last minute advice and saying farewell. Ando clapped Hiro on the back and told him something she couldn't understand. Peter extended a hand to Isaac, who awkwardly shook it.

"Isaac, we have no way of knowing how long this will take," Peter began, "so I'm counting on you to look after her for me."

Isaac nodded his agreement. "Be careful, you guys."

"Yes, be safe," Mohinder added.

And then Peter was in front of her. Theoretically, she'd known that he would have to go after the blonde woman at some point and that there would most likely be danger involved, but now that it was happening all she could see was his broken body lying dead on the ground. Something like that could happen again, only this time she wouldn't be there to bring him back.

"Peter…" she whispered fearfully. His face softened, and he reached out and pulled her to him. She latched her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. As long as she was holding him, he was safe.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," he assured while running a soothing hand down her back, "And if anything _does_ happen… well, I have the best doctor around, remember?"

She nodded into his chest, still feeling too much dread to smile, "But what if something happens, and you can't get to me?"

Peter pulled back so he could look at her and cupped her cheek, "I promise that won't happen." Then, his lips quirked into a grin, "You still owe me a kiss, and I'm not going to die before I get it."

She let out a little laugh and nodded, finally letting her arms fall away from him, but he pulled her close again and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "And for the record, I like the way you smell, too." Then he was backing away. He gave her one last smile before he disappeared.


	9. Piecing Together the Paintings

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST, some Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Sorry this is up so late. My best friend flew in to visit me, and I just haven't been home. I've been spending all my time with him since I hardly ever get to see him anymore. He's here for another week, but I stayed home for today to finish writing this because I love all of you so much (and I was feeling horribly guilty for neglecting you). And as a peace offering, I've decided to post two chapters at once.

**Chapter Nine: Piecing Together the Paintings**

_Claire's eyes trailed over the painting and the two figures it featured, wondering what role the tall black man and the little boy would play in Peter and Hiro's mission._

---

"This is as far as we go," D.L. told Micah as they looked out at the ominous looking building.

"But I want to see Mom." He could hear the plea in his son's words.

He sighed, "I know you do, but we can't go in there. Someone might recognize me."

"But Dad," protested Micah.

He cut him off, "Look, I told you I'd bring you here, and I did. This is all I can do."

"You're lying," Micah accused.

D.L. raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You can get her out."

He let out a breath, shook his head, "I'm not _even_ hearing this."

"You can. I _know_ you can," Micah urged.

"Micah, this was your mom's choice. She put herself in there," he jabbed his finger toward the building.

"But she doesn't belong in there. It's not her fault!"

"Sorry to interrupt," a new voice entered the conversation. D.L. turned to see that two men were standing a few feet away from him, and he looked around, trying to figure out where they'd come from.

The man continued, "The woman you're talking about… would her name happen to be Niki Sanders?"

D.L.'s brows rose in surprise before his eyes narrowed in suspicion, looking over the new arrivals carefully. The Japanese man was beaming up at him, and he looked a little familiar.

"I'm Hiro Nakemura. Do you remember me?" Hiro gave him an imploring smile, then mimed holding a steering wheel, "Car," then brought his fists together before suddenly parting them, splaying his fingers, "Fire. I saved your life." And the huge smile never left his face.

Dumbfounded, D.L. stared at Hiro for a moment before letting his eyes travel over to the other man, finally coming to rest on Micah, who just gave a little shrug.

---

_Claire moved on to the next painting and her eyes furrowed in confusion. She shook her head, wondering why on earth Hiro appeared to be licking his hand._

---

D.L. huffed, "I can't believe I'm doing this." He knelt down and put his hand on the ground, preparing to demonstrate his abilities.

Micah gave his dad a disapproving look, "You heard what they said. Mom needs your help."

"Hey," D.L. interjected, slightly annoyed, "I agreed, didn't I?" _Why_ he agreed, God only knows. These two men, Hiro and Peter, had relayed this unbelievable story about prophetic paintings and super villains that sounded like it came from one of Micah's comic books. But they claimed they were there to save Niki, and Micah's begging clinched his decision to help them. No matter what had happened, he still loved her.

D.L. felt the grass and dirt beneath his hand, and slowly, he _pushed_. The ground rippled as his hand sunk into it.

"You phase like Kitty!" Hiro smiled excitedly, but when everyone gave him blank, uncomprehending looks, he made a fist and gave the back of his hand a few quick licks before rubbing it over the top of his head, miming a cat grooming itself. "Kitty?" he smiled expectantly, "Shadowcat?"

---

_Claire stepped over to the next painting: the one from the original batch that featured Peter coming out of the wall._

---

D.L. and Peter crept down the hall of the correctional facility. Hiro had wanted to come, but Peter had convinced him to stay, citing that Hiro wasn't in any of the paintings inside the prison and that someone had to stay and protect Micah. Sharing D.L.'s powers, they had managed to sneak into the building without being seen, and now, they were searching for Niki's cell.

"I think I hear someone coming," whispered Peter.

D.L. turned his head to the side and heard the faint clomping of boots heading their way. "Guards," he returned, then pushed Peter into the wall before melting into it himself. D.L. counted in his head, waiting until he was sure it was safe to return to the corridor. He stepped out of the wall and watched the wall ripple as Peter followed him out.

"Let's hurry up, so we can get out of here," D.L. murmured.

---

_The next painting was the one of the woman in her jumpsuit, and she looked so scared. Claire worried her lip between her teeth, hoping that Peter and Hiro managed to get to her in time._

---

D.L. and Peter rounded a corner and saw Niki cowered against the far wall of her cell, having no way to escape the man who had come into her cell and locked the door behind him. Suddenly, her body was lifted and flung against the cement wall, and she stared at the shadowed man with wide, fearful eyes.

They rushed through the bars of the cell, each grabbing at the man, trying to pull him away from her. But then they were each flying away, painfully smacking against the unyielding walls before falling to the floor. D.L. was the first to get up, inserting himself in front of his wife, defending her. He threw a punch, but phantom hands seized it, and _yanked_, throwing him out of the way.

The man continued advancing toward Niki, who pressed herself as tightly to the wall as she could, trying to keep as far away from the man as possible. The man extended his hand and gripped her throat, strangling her to prevent her from making any noise. She worked her mouth, eyes filling with tears when all that would come were raspy whispers.

And then, the fingers around the column of her throat were loosening, and the man furrowed his brows in confusion as his hand slowly backed away from her. Once his hand was completely removed from her, his body was violently thrown against the bars.

---

_The next painting showed the black man with his arm around the blonde women, hurrying away from… something. Claire felt her body fill with dread, wondering why Peter wasn't with them._

---

Niki coughed and wheezed, trying to regain her breath, and D.L. ran to her to make sure she was all right.

"Get her out of here!" Peter yelled. He was standing with his hand outstretched toward the man, somehow holding him prisoner against the bars. When D.L. hesitated, Peter turned to him, eyes fierce, "Go! I can hold him off!"

D.L. wrapped his arm around his wife and pulled her up, ushering her to the back wall and praying he could use his powers to get her through with him. The wall rippled as he pushed their conjoined hands into it, and he cast one last look at Peter before urging Niki through the wall.

---

_Claire finally reached the last painting and honestly didn't know what to think about it. Peter stood, hand outstretched, objects floating all around him._

---

Peter's teeth clenched as he struggled to keep the man pinned to the row of bars. This man had tried to kill Claire, and he would try again unless Peter stopped him. The attacker moved his arms, extending them out toward Peter, whose eyes narrowed, pushing the arms back against the bars. The man stopped fighting him, and Peter was in the midst of figuring out how to get out of the cell when he felt something crash into the side of his body. He fell to the floor, losing his concentration. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cell's sink rushing toward him, and his hand shot out, stopping it before it could connect, immediately redirecting it toward the man, who dove to the side to avoid being hit.

They continued, using their minds to grab whatever objects the cell contained, hurling them at each other, feinting, dodging, blocking. Peter clocked the man in the shoulder with a chunk of the toilet, and the man retaliated by sweeping his feet out from under him with a metal post from the bed. Everything in the room swirled about them, and Peter could hear yelling in the background but didn't stop to see where it was coming from.

Peter sent the bed sheet hurtling at his opponent, roping it around his neck and yanking him into the air, feet dangling above the floor. He watched as the man struggled, grasping at the sheet, but Peter held firm, determined to wait long enough for the man to pass out.

When then the man went limp, Peter started lowering him to the ground. He looked around, frantically trying to come up with a way out. D.L. was long gone, so he wouldn't be able to phase. There was a crowd of guards gathered on the other side of the bars, who had apparently been watching the fight with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Peter let out a frustrated breath, ran a hand through his hair, and… pain, searing, burning pain. Peter looked down to see the metal bedpost protruding out from his stomach. He choked and fell to his knees, gazed up at the stoic man looming over him.

And this was it. He'd failed.

Peter waited helplessly for the man to finish him off. But nothing happened.

"You should have let me come with you," Hiro chided, but then gasped once he saw how badly Peter was hurt. He hurried to Peter, closed his eyes in concentration, and teleported them both out of the building.

He reappeared beside D.L., Micah, and the newly rescued Niki, who all looked horrified at Peter's mutilated body.

"Oh, God," breathed Niki, "We got to get him to the hospital."

Peter, barely conscious, shook his head, "No."

"Man, you need a doctor," D.L. insisted.

"I have one," Peter's eyes closed, his body beginning to shut down, "She's waiting for me at Isaac's."


	10. The Touching Reunion

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, Humor, UST, some Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **And here's the next one. Hope it makes up for the lack of Paire in the last one.

**Chapter Ten: The Touching Reunion**

Claire paced. She'd tried sitting down, but her foot would tap and her hands would fidget, so she abandoned the chair and stuck to pacing. The others – Isaac, Ando, and Mohinder – tried to involve her in their conversation, but she just wasn't capable of small talk at the moment. It seemed like they'd been waiting forever.

And then she wasn't waiting anymore. One second, the middle of the room was empty, and the next, it was filled with people. She could see Hiro and the people from the painting – the blonde woman, the black man, and the boy – kneeling over something. She rushed to them, along with the others, and there was Peter, lying slightly on his side, bleeding profusely around the pole imbedded in his body.

Eyes widening, she fought to get to him. Mohinder had made his way to Peter's side to check his vitals. She could hear everyone's panicked yells for a phone, a doctor, an ambulance, but she ignored them, only concerned with getting to Peter. But everyone was in her way.

"Move!" she yelled, finally shoving her way past them. Wrapping her hands around the post, she began to pull, but Mohinder stopped her hands.

"If we remove this, he'll lose too much blood," he explained. "We must wait for the paramedics to arrive." He looked meaningfully at Isaac who was currently dialing for help. Claire took the phone out of his hands and tossed it across the room, then grabbed the pole and _pulled_, freeing it from Peter's abdomen.

Mohinder made a horrified sound and reached for Peter, but Claire shoved his hands away. She pushed up Peter's shirt and let everyone watch as the wound healed and the skin knitted itself back together. "He can absorb my healing," she explained.

Mohinder gave her an odd look, then asked, "You're capable of regeneration?" At her nod, he continued, "My father would've been upset that he overlooked you. He believed people with your abilities might hold the key to immortality. The fountain of youth, if you will." Claire raised her brow at him, then shook her head and refocused her attention on Peter.

Peter groaned, and his eyes flickered before opening completely. He gazed up into her eyes and finally spoke, "Getting hurt's a bitch when I'm not near you."

Her eyes narrowed, and she smacked him sharply on the chest.

He gave an indignant yelp, "What was that for?"

"You said you'd be fine," she accused.

He sat up and grinned at her, "I _am _fine." He gestured over his body, "Look, not even a scratch."

"I can't tell if you have any scratches since your whole body is covered in _blood_," she shot back disdainfully.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think red is my color," he replied, looking a little amused by her tantrum.

Her jaw clenched, and she smacked his chest again, then turned away from him and sat on her knees, fuming.

When he put his hand on her shoulder, she ignored him, staring resolutely ahead of her. "Claire." When she wouldn't respond, he moved in closer, "Claire," then finally rested his chin on her shoulder, "Claire?" She rolled her eyes at the pout in his voice but refused to give in.

"Why are you so upset?" he asked, "You didn't seem to mind me getting hurt before. I mean, we jumped off the apartment building, and that was _your _idea."

"That's different," she insisted, a little petulant.

"How so?" he whispered back.

She sniffled a little before finally explaining, "I was with you, then. I knew you'd be safe."

Understanding seemed to dawn on him, and he sighed, then wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her to him. Her back was pressed to his front, but she kept her stare fixed ahead. His chin was still resting on her shoulder, and he murmured into her ear, "I'm sorry."

She kept still, stubbornly refusing to let him win her over. He nuzzled into her neck, whispering again, "I'm sorry, Claire." She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. He pressed a kiss into her hair, "I'm really sorry I scared you," and she finally relaxed in his embrace, tilting her head back against his chest, and clasping her hands over his arms, which were still holding her around the waist.

"Sorry to interrupt the reunion with the little woman," D.L. cut in, not sounding apologetic in the least, "But can somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?"

---

"So the guy, back at the jail, he's killing off everyone on this list?" asked D.L..

There were several scattered nods, and Isaac replied, "Yeah, he's picking us off, one by one."

"Which is why we need to stick together," Peter added, now wearing a clean shirt he'd borrowed from Isaac.

D.L. gave him an incredulous look, "Stick together? Isn't that like painting a giant bull's-eye on our backs?"

Peter looked away for a moment, then returned his gaze, "I think all this is happening for a reason, that it's our destiny to meet up and stop this guy."

"Avengers Assemble," Hiro added, trying to be helpful, and Isaac and Ando shared a smirk.

D.L. shook his head and turned back to Peter, "That _guy_ shoved a pole through your stomach."

Peter waved his hand at him, "That was nothing. I'm fine, now."

"I noticed," D.L. responded, "What if something like that happens to me or my family? Is your girlfriend gonna perform her miracle healing trick on the rest of us?"

Peter looked down at the floor and sighed, "The healing only works for me and her."

D.L. scoffed, "Of course, it does." Then he sighed and turned to his wife, who had been silent for some time. "What do you think, Niki?"

Niki gazed out the window, considering his question. "I don't think this is a safe place for Micah." Suddenly, she turned and backhanded her husband, sending him flying across the room. In her haste to get to Micah, Niki shoved Claire, sending her crashing to the floor.

Peter rushed to Claire to make sure she was all right, and they watched as Niki grabbed her son's forearm and urged him in the direction of the door. Micah was pleading with his mom to snap out of it, to wake up…

After checking on Claire, Peter hurried to stop Niki, hoping to reason with her. He stood in front of her, blocking her exit. Her hand shot out, but Peter deftly caught it, preventing her from landing the blow. She sneered at him before grabbing his shoulders and hurling him through the closed window.

Micah screamed as the glass shattered, and Niki's face looked horrified by what had happened. "Oh God, what did I do?" Micah hugged around her midsection, to comfort her.

"I'm going to check on Peter," Claire voiced, then hurried for the door.

---

Claire made her way to Peter, who was stood, glaring at the broken window. She gave him a soft smile and grasped his arm, trailing her fingers over his skin and removing stray slivers of glass. She let out a little giggle and teased, "I can't believe you got beat up by a girl."

When he didn't laugh, she looked up at him, hoping she hadn't irritated him. He was staring back at her intently, and she ducked her eyes, a little self-conscious. She picked out the few remaining glass fragments, "Well, I think that should do it."

She lowered her hands and took a step back, but he reached out, caught her wrist, and used it to propel her back to him. His other hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her even closer. He slid the hand on her wrist up her forearm, over the crook of her elbow and farther still. His fingers smoothed over her shoulder, to the base of her throat, before finally cupping the nape of her neck. Her skin prickled everywhere he touched, and she closed her eyes, letting out ragged breaths, her insides heating up.

"I'm so tired of fighting this," Peter whispered, and she could hear the frustration in his voice.

"Fighting what?" she asked, voice trembling.

Peter slid his fingers into the hair at the back of her head and pulled, tilting her face up to his. "Don't play dumb, Claire,"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he used the hand behind her neck to yank her to him, sealing his lips over hers. And it was _so _good, everything she'd been secretly fantasizing about all those nights when she lay in Peter's bed. His mouth was hot on hers, pressing insistently, molding her tongue with his own.

He brought his hands down to hers, grasping her wrists and pulling them up to wrap around his neck, and she latched onto him, pressed her body flush against his, and responded to his kisses just as urgently. His hands glided down her back, then back up, this time under her shirt, stroking her smooth, bare skin, skimming the edge of her bra.

He dominated her mouth, kissing her roughly, as he backed her against the side of the building. Releasing her lips, he pressed several openmouthed kisses along the column of her throat, and her head fell back against the wall. God, she wanted him. She felt like they'd been dancing around this ever since she'd come to live with him.

Peter dragged her hips to his, and his mouth trailed down her neck, along her collarbone, as he smoothed his hands down her thighs, finally gripping the backs of them and hoisting her up. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, and dug her fingers into his shoulders as he licked and nipped at her throat. He breathed harshly into her ear, "God, Claire, the _things_ I want to do to you." And he seized her mouth again, kissing her deeply, desperately.

"Cheerleader Claire?" a voice called out, "Peter-kun?"

Peter's lips immediately pulled back from hers, and he stared at her with wide eyes before scrambling away from her and dropping her to the ground. She struggled to control her breathing as she sat, staring up at him.

"Claire?" he whispered, "What just happened?" And the way he asked the question made her think that he really expected her to answer.

"I don't know," she responded, "Why don't you tell me?"

A strange expression came over his face, "I don't…" he shook his head, "Claire, I don't remember."


	11. Let's Spend the Night Together

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Angst, Romance, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Well, the angst had to start sometime… It's a long chapter though, so that should count for something, right? I was going to split it up but decided I liked it this way.

**Chapter Eleven: Let's Spend the Night Together**

He wouldn't stop looking at her. Ever since Hiro had found them outside of Isaac's building, he hadn't stopped looking at her. At first, she didn't know what to think about his little case of amnesia, so she avoided his question, using Hiro's presence as an excuse not to answer.

She'd rushed back into the apartment, wanting to distance herself from him and the situation. It was just too much. She'd just had the single most erotic moment of her life, yet Peter didn't seem to remember a thing. How was that even _possible_? She could feel a bundle of emotions churning in her gut but wasn't sure she could identify a single one.

Then Niki started talking, her explanation riddled with apologies. She told them this amazing story about _Jessica_, some sort of alternative personality who took over her body and made her do these _terrible_ things, after which, she woke up, having no recollection of even doing them.

And that answered so many of Claire's questions but apparently not nearly enough of Peter's, whose eyes were fixated on her. She kept her gaze determinedly away from him as those awful emotions festered inside her. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but one stood out among the others: Jessica made Niki do things she didn't want to do, things that she was obviously ashamed of.

Claire's heart sank. Is that how Peter viewed kissing her? Was it really so awful that he'd regret it _that_ much? She cast him a quick look out of the corner of her eye and decided she didn't want to find out. She was humiliated enough, actually believing that he had returned her feelings, had wanted her as much as she wanted him. God, she was stupid.

And he was still looking at her. The entire cab ride home, she kept her head down, not daring to meet his eyes, unwilling to see what expression his face held. He'd tried to talk to her once, "Claire," he'd began, soothing and careful, "What happened?"

She'd replied with the short, "I don't want to talk about it." And though he seemed even more distressed by her dismissal, he respected her wishes for the rest of the drive.

---

When they finally entered the apartment, Peter's looks were interspersed with harsh coughs, and she could vaguely remember him coughing when they were in the car but was too caught up in her own thoughts to pay much attention to it.

He coughed into his hand and seemed a little dizzy on his feet. She was about to suggest he sit down, when he straightened up and looked at her determinedly, "We need to talk."

She huffed and retorted, "No, we don't."

"Claire," he said her name as if he was trying to reason with her, and it irritated her so much that he wouldn't just let it go. He laid a hand on her shoulder, probably to reassure her and convince her to talk to him, but she shrugged him off. His touches never got her anywhere, with the exception of the mess she was currently in.

He looked so hurt by her rejection, sad even, and he tried again, "You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is I did, even if I…" he trailed off. She wasn't sure what the end of that sentence was supposed to be, and maybe she wasn't going to know because another bout of coughs suddenly hit him.

She watched, concerned, as he heaved, trying to regain his breath. "You need to lie down," she said, taking his arm and leading him to the couch. He didn't resist her, just laid back on the couch before rolling to his side and coughing some more. She knelt down on the floor and smoothed his hair out of his eyes, momentarily wondering why her healing wasn't helping him.

He let out a few stray coughs before finally calming, his breathing evening out. When she realized her fingers were still toying with his hair, she jerked her hand away. And the look was back – that awful, guilt-ridden look.

"Did I…" his voice was hesitant, maybe a little fearful, "Did I hurt you?" He looked so vulnerable, like her answer might break him.

She was quick to reassure him, "No," because the thought of this man physically harming her was preposterous.

But her response didn't seem to convince him, nor did it erase that miserable expression from his face. "If I didn't…" he began, "Why won't you just tell me what happened?"

His question was almost an accusation. He seemed certain she was lying to him or at the very least hiding something. And she was, of course, but it wasn't what he thought it was. He hadn't hurt her, unless you counted the time she bumped her head against the wall, and it definitely was not in her best interest to relive those particular memories.

She sighed and tried to reason with him without having to humiliate herself by owning up to the truth. "Peter, you heard Niki. It wasn't even you who did it. You weren't in control, so it really doesn't matter."

_Wrong_ thing to say.

Peter's expression turned fierce, "Yes, I _did_ hear Niki, and that's _exactly_ why I want to know what happened. If I hurt you…"

She gave him an exasperated look, "You _didn't_."

But he didn't believe her. "Damn it, Claire! Tell me what happened!"

At his impassioned outburst, she cracked, blurted out, "You kissed me, okay?" Immediately, she wished she could take the words back, make it so he'd never heard them.

Peter looked shell-shocked, like that was the last thing he'd expected her to say, "What?" Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she was a little hurt that the idea of kissing her was so appalling to him.

"That's what happened," she responded, "Just a stupid, _meaningless_ kiss." She fervently hoped he couldn't hear the bitterness in her voice, and she hoped even more that he couldn't see the hope in her eyes, willing him to disagree with her assessment of the kiss, to tell her that it _did _mean something.

But he didn't seem to notice anything, just gave her a doubtful look, "Claire, I may not remember everything that happened, but when I came to, I had you pinned up against the wall. That doesn't seem like some innocent kiss." She had to agree, 'innocent' was definitely not the word she would use to describe the way his mouth had pressed against hers.

"Yeah, well, that's all it was," she bit out defensively. Why couldn't he just let the subject go? He seemed determined to prod and prod until he had her figured out, until he learned that not only had he kissed her, but she had kissed him back, that she had wanted it to happen, been waiting for it. And then he was going to pity her and things would be even more awkward and…

"I think you should get some sleep," he said, and she must've missed something because that distraught look was back in place.

She furrowed her brows in confusion, "Peter?"

He sighed, "Go to bed, Claire."

She looked at him, a little stunned and a lot hurt. Sure, she'd wanted a way out of the conversation, but this dismissal wasn't what she'd had in mind. Peter had never talked to her like this. They'd been spending nearly every waking moment together, and he always seemed to enjoy having her around.

She considered responding with some biting retort but didn't really know what she would say, and truthfully, she didn't think it would make any difference. So she rose to her feet and looked down at him helplessly, giving him the chance to take it back, to apologize, but he remained silent, didn't so much as look at her, so she turned on her heal and made her way to the bedroom.

---

The next morning, Claire woke up feeling groggy. She'd spent the better half of the night tossing and turning, caught between vivid memories of Peter's hands on her body and the hurtful dismissal that came not long after.

She warily made her way to the kitchen, not really knowing what to expect from Peter, but instead of the usual sight of him making breakfast, she found a note saying that he'd gone up to the roof. He didn't extend an invitation to her, so she took that to mean he wanted some time alone, and it irked her that he was entitled to his space when she wasn't.

He finally got hungry and came down for lunch, and though she couldn't bare to have his gaze directed at her the night before, she wanted more than anything for him to look in her direction, to give her that quirky, lopsided smile only he could pull off.

She stood beside him at the kitchen counter, watching as he made them both sandwiches. Any other time, she would've been a little giddy that he didn't have to ask how she liked hers, but today it merely gave him an excuse not to talk to her.

Letting out a small sigh, she opened a cabinet and retrieved two glasses, then moved to the freezer to get some ice. She gave the tray a slight twist to loosen the ice cubes and dropped a few into each glass. And inspiration struck. Maybe if she started acting normal, then Peter would follow her example. She wanted so much to put everything that happened last night behind them.

She eyed the ice cubes, discreetly picking one up and hiding it in the palm of her hand. Nonchalantly, she made her way behind him, then jerked the collar of his shirt away from his neck and dropped the cube of ice down his back.

He let out a surprised yelp and squirmed a little as the cold ice slid down his skin. She burst into giggles, eyes filled with mirth as he spun around to face her. His incredulous look transformed into something akin to smirk as he reached out and snatched her wrists, pushing her back into the counter and holding her there as he floundered for a piece of ice to retaliate with.

Her wild laughter filled the room as she struggled to get free, but he didn't yield, his body pressing hers against the counter to keep her from escaping. She could see his hand coming toward her, beads of moisture trailing over his skin where the ice had already begun to melt.

But it didn't come any closer. He was staring down at her, wearing that infuriating look again. "I'm sorry," he said, then pulled away from her and dropped the ice into the sink.

This had to be the most confusing man ever, "Peter?"

His eyes were so sad, and she had no idea why. "I appreciate what you're trying to do," he began, "But you really don't have to." Then he turned away and headed back out the front door, and she looked forlornly at his untouched meal.

---

Claire's eyes fluttered open, and she blearily glanced around in the dark, finally settling on the figure sitting hunched over on the side of the bed.

"Peter?" she asked, "Is everything okay?"

He startled at the sound of her voice and gave her a panicked look. "Everything's fine."

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she prodded, "It's late. What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that," he replied, then stood abruptly. "I'll just be going now."

"Peter," she called out, effectively stopping his retreat, "Are you stalking me?"

His eyes widened, expression horrified, "What? No! Of course, not."

A small giggle escaped her mouth, "Relax, Peter. It was a joke." He relaxed but only slightly. "So, if you're not a peeping tom, why exactly are you in my room in the middle of the night?"

"Technically, it's _my _room," he replied, offering her the first sign of that crooked smile she missed so much.

"I don't think so," she argued haughtily, "You gave up all rights to this room when you made such a big deal about me sleeping in here. So, tell me why you're here."

That hint of a smile disappeared, "I just had a bad dream. I needed to check and make sure you were all right."

Touched by his concern, she was filled with the urge to comfort _him_ this time, to be there for him the way he was always there for her. "What was the dream about?"

He looked away from her, hesitated before answering, "I couldn't protect you."

She waited for his eyes to travel back to hers, then gave him a soft smile, "It was just a dream. That's not going to happen."

He looked away from her again, stared guiltily down at his feet, "How can you be so sure? I couldn't even protect you from myself."

She drew her brows together, "What are you talking about?" then finally understood what he was referring to, "Peter, I _told_ you. You didn't hurt me. We just kissed."

But it seemed like no matter how many times she said it, he just refused to believe her, "You don't have to lie." She was a little offended that he thought she was so dishonest, but he wasn't finished speaking, and she figured this might be her only chance to get to the bottom of this. "After… what happened at Isaac's… you didn't want anything to do with me, and you were so against telling me…" he paused, looking so distraught, "You wouldn't even let me touch you. God, after everything that happened with that fucking football player, this is the last thing you need."

And Claire suddenly understood why he was acting this way. He thought that he'd tried to… "Oh, Peter…"

He looked away, ashamed. And it was such a misunderstanding, and yesterday, she would've done anything to escape embarrassment, but now, seeing him like this, she was willing to face whatever humiliation it took to erase that expression from his face. She had been so busy worrying about her own broken heart that she never stopped to see how much he was hurting. God, she had to fix this.

She lifted up the covers and said, "Come here."

He looked so reluctant, so unsure, "Claire, I don't think…"

"Come here," she repeated, voice firm, leaving no room for argument, and hesitantly, he did what she said, sliding in between the sheets and lying down on his side, facing her, but staying close to the edge, making no move to touch her.

She reached a hand out, smoothed it around his waist, settled it low on his spine, and used it to pull her body across the gap between them. His body was so warm, so firm against hers, and she couldn't help thinking back to the way he had pressed up against her outside of Isaac's, except now his chest was bare, and her hands itched to run over his skin, to caress every inch his shirt had prevented her from reaching.

She shoved those thoughts aside. This wasn't about that. The only reason she was touching him was to prove that he was wrong about what happened, that she wasn't afraid of him. The last thing he needed was for her to jump him.

Mentally shaking her head, she focused on the man in her arms, voice filled with earnestness, "You've got it all wrong. You're _nothing_ like Brody."

He started to protest, but she wouldn't have it. "No. I swear, Peter, you didn't try to…" She let the statement hang in the air, not finishing it. The idea of Peter trying to do something like that to her just seemed so ridiculous that she couldn't even say it aloud.

She continued, doing her best to explain the situation without actually confessing her feelings, "I'm sorry I acted the way I did. You had just kissed me out of nowhere, and then you didn't remember. It was awkward, and I was embarrassed…"

His hands stayed down at his sides, but he looked so hopeful, like he wanted to believe her so _badly_. "I just can't stand the though of you getting hurt."

She gave him an indulgent smile, simultaneously touched and amused by his one-track mind. "The only thing that's hurting me is you pushing me away. I want my friend back."

He ran a hand through his hair, "I get that. It's just…" he sighed and then gazed directly into her eyes, "I can't let anything bad happen to you."

That fierce, protective look nearly took her breath away. "You won't," she breathed, and she held his gaze, her expression open, and spoke with all the conviction she could muster, "I trust you."

Her words inspired the most beautiful thing: Peter looked at her in awe, as if she was the most wondrous thing he'd ever seen, and he gathered her in his arms and clutched her to him, finally returning her embrace. His chin rested on top of her head as he held her close, voice nearly trembling as he whispered, "You're amazing, Claire."

God, it felt so good to have him hold her like this, as if she was the most precious thing in the world. She didn't fully understand why he'd looked at her like that, why he seemed so incredibly grateful, but she was content to snuggle in closer, just to enjoy the reverence in the way he touched her. And maybe he didn't want her, maybe he'll never feel the same way she did, but right now, in this moment, it was enough.

---

When she woke up, he was lying on his back with her sprawled on top him, her head resting on his chest. One of his hands was wrapped around her, holding her in place, while the other rested behind his head. He was staring up at the ceiling with an odd expression on his face, and though she couldn't decipher it, he was obviously deep in thought.

Smiling up at him sleepily, she greeted, "Good morning."

He glanced down at her, "Morning," then looked back up at the ceiling. He didn't say anything else for a while, and Claire felt a sense of dread creeping up inside her.

Eyes still on the ceiling, he finally broke the silence. "I've been thinking about… what happened at Isaac's."

Interesting how 'what happened at Isaac's' had become a euphemism for kissing her senseless, but since he didn't feel the same way about the situation as she did, the dread only grew stronger, making her apprehensive about whatever conclusion he'd made.

Indecision was written across his face, but he pressed on, "I don't think that kiss should count as the one you owe me. Since I don't remember it and all, I think it's only fair."

His words surprised her; they weren't at all what she'd expected. He looked at her meaningfully, and she suddenly understood what he was doing, what he was trying to say. Last night she'd asked for her friend back, and now she'd gotten him.

She beamed up at him, feeling all those festering emotions run out of her, letting her relief replace them, and he was smiling down at her softly. But it wasn't long before he was staring back up at the ceiling, that same unreadable expression on his face.

Despite really wanting to know what he was thinking, she didn't ask him about it. It was too soon, and though they had finally regained their footing, the ground still seemed unstable, volatile, as if it was just waiting to trip them up again.

Instead, she tightened her hold on him, laid her cheek back down on his chest, and chose to enjoy the moment as long as it lasted.


	12. Getting Their Wires Crossed

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Angst, Romance, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **I'd just like to say that the reviewers for this story are my favorite people in the world. Your feedback is great, and I love how thoughtful your reviews are.

**Special thanks** to frellingblonde, Paire smut writer extraordinaire. If your mind is anywhere near as dirty as mine is, head on over to the pairelove comm on livejournal and check her out. We put the power of our brilliant minds together to puzzle out what Peter sees in Simone. We couldn't think of much, but she's still kick ass for trying. And yes, I know I have Simone issues so leave me alone.

And to **KallistoG**, in response to the last comment you made: I agree. What's the hurry, indeed. ; )

**Chapter Twelve: Getting Their Wires Crossed**

When Peter had asked her if she wanted to get out of the apartment for a while, this was definitely _not_ what she'd had in mind. He'd taken her to see Simone. _Simone_.

When she'd first met Simone, Claire didn't really take the time to form an opinion about her, but now she couldn't help being somewhat interested about the woman Peter was dating. Simone was so confident, standing there in her designer clothes and fashionable shoes. Claire looked down at the jeans and sneakers she wore, suddenly feeling very young and insecure.

"You two haven't been jumping off anymore buildings, have you?" Simone asked.

Peter chuckled, "Nope. Just the one."

"Good," Simone replied, shaking her head and laughing slightly, "I still can't believe you did something so reckless."

Even though Claire was sure Simone hadn't meant it that way, her comment was like a slap in the face. _Reckless?_ She made it sound like their jump was just some crazy stunt they did for thrills. Sure, they'd told Simone they'd done it for fun, but that wasn't it at all. It was about trust, and showing Peter that she wasn't just some girl he had to save, that she could save him too.

"I hope you've found safer ways to have 'fun'," Simone enunciated the last word, teasing them about the reason they'd given for jumping.

Claire just couldn't help herself. It wasn't her fault that the word 'safe' was inextricably connected to condoms, and because of all their inside jokes, she couldn't think of condoms without thinking of Peter, which made her sound like a very naughty girl, "I've been trying to get Peter to be…" she glanced at him, her mouth forming a smirk, "_safe_. But he keeps telling me 'no'."

Peter arched his brow, "And I'm going to _keep_ telling you 'no'."

She pouted, "But Peter, if we're _safe_, we can have _fun_. Isn't that what Simone just said, that we should find a _safe _way to have _fun_?" She ended by wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He grinned and shook his head at her, "That's not what she meant."

Simone looked back and forth between them, "Am I missing something?"

"Nothing important," Peter replied.

"Peter," Claire chided, "Being _safe_ is very important."

Simone gave her an odd look before changing the subject, "So, Claire, how do you like living in New York so far?"

She turned away from Peter and shrugged, "It's fine, I guess."

"I trust Peter is being a gentleman?" Simone reached out and squeezed Peter's shoulder, and Claire narrowed her eyes at the gesture.

She tore her eyes away, looked aimlessly around the gallery, anything to avoid the sight of this woman's hands on Peter. On display were the paintings of Niki's rescue, and she was just about to point them out and ask about them when Simone started talking to her again.

Simone gave her an amused, indulging smile, "Are you still sleeping in Peter's bed?"

Claire flushed a little, remembering that stupid comment she'd made the first time she met Simone, and for some reason, having Simone tease her about it really grated on her nerves. "Why yes, I _am _still sleeping in Peter's bed, and just the other night, he slept in it _with_ me." She finished with a wide, innocent smile.

Simone's jaw dropped before turning to Peter for an explanation, but he just stood there looking like a deer caught in headlights.

---

"I still can't believe you said that," Peter said, lifting his mug to his lips. After they'd left the gallery, he'd taken her to this quaint little coffee shop.

Claire shrugged, "It's not like I lied," took a drink of her own cappuccino. She wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but she liked this place. It really seemed to fit Peter. "So, I guess this is our second 'date,'" Claire finger quoted the last word.

He grinned, "I guess _so_," before taking a sip from his mug. When he lowered his drink, he smirked at her, "Out of curiosity, are you allowed to shave your legs for a second date?"

She toed off one of her shoes before extending her leg and resting her sock covered foot on top of his thigh, ending with the suggestive, "See for yourself."

He shot a quick glance down at his lap before raising his eyes back to hers. A moment later he was reaching under the table, pushing the leg of her pants up her calf, then sliding his hand along the newly exposed skin. "Feels smooth," he assessed, then arched his brow, "Does this mean you're not worried about being _tempted_ this time?"

She grinned and countered, "Maybe it means I _want _to be _tempted_."

Peter snorted, "Maybe it means you want me to go to jail."

Tilting her head to the side, she questioned, "Jail?"

"For engaging in sexual acts with a minor," he explained wryly. "Last I checked, that was illegal."

She giggled, "Do you check often?"

"Only since you moved in," he replied, making butterflies erupt in her stomach, and the little patterns he kept tracing along her ankle weren't helping to calm them down.

"Too bad we're not still in Texas," she teased, "I'm legal _there_."

He froze at her words, the hand on her ankle going still. His voice was thin, a little too careful, when he asked, "How old _are _you?"

When she answered, "Seventeen," his eyes immediately darted to hers, and his hand clinched around her ankle.

He tore his eyes away from her, raised his mug to his lips, and took a long drink. Avoiding her gaze, he cleared his throat, looked around at everything in the room _but_ her, and finally said, "You're legal here, too."

Claire's lips curled into a provocative smile, "Well, then," she nudged his thigh with her foot, "I guess you can stop worrying about jail."

He held her gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes to the table and running a hand through his hair, and if she wasn't mistaken, she'd just made him a little nervous. And just _thinking_ that Peter might not be completely indifferent to her made her insanely giddy.

Claire sipped her drink absently, glancing over at Peter who hadn't spoken in a while. He seemed like he was off in his own little world. She pressed her foot into his leg to get his attention, and when his gaze finally connected with hers, she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing much," he replied, but it was just a stock answer, didn't fool her at all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She spoke gently while searching out his eyes. "Is it…" God, it hurt even to ask, "Is it about Simone?"

He sighed, and the faraway look was back on his face. "I used to be so sure, you know?" No, she didn't know, but she wasn't about to interrupt him. He looked out into the café, staring at nothing in particular, "I thought…" he paused, leaving those thoughts unspoken, trying to piece it together on his own.

His expression was still one of confusion when he fixed his eyes back on her, "But now…" Letting his words hang in the air, he gave her this probing look, eyes darting back and forth between her own. It seemed like he was looking for something but hell if she knew what it was. Peter opened his mouth, started to say something, but apparently changed his mind.

Thoughts racing, she tried to think of what could possibly be bothering him, and then she remembered the paintings at Simone's gallery. _Isaac's _paintings. Once she'd thought of it, she was convinced that was it. That first time she 'd visited Isaac's place, hadn't there been those weird vibes when she'd brought up Simone? "Does it have to do with Isaac?" When Peter didn't say anything, she elaborated, "His paintings were at the gallery."

Peter grinned at her, "Imagine that, _paintings_ in a _gallery_."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not stupid, you know. So just tell me, how does Isaac fit into this?"

"He's Simone's ex-boyfriend."

Yeah, she'd figured as much. "Is that why you're so moody now?"

He looked amused, "_Moody_?"

"Yes, _moody_," she answered as if it were obvious, then continued with her questioning, not letting him deter her, "Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous?" he was being difficult on purpose, just to irritate her.

And it was working. "I don't know," she huffed, "Maybe you're afraid she's going to go running back to him."

Wryly, he answered, "It wouldn't surprise me. His drug addiction was the main reason they broke up, and now that he's clean…"

She gave up. Here she was, trying to be a good friend, but he wasn't taking any of her attempts at helping him seriously. Maybe he just didn't feel like talking, and if that was the case, she should probably back off and quit prodding at him. But she also remembered how lost he was just moments ago and couldn't help offering him some reassuring words, even if those words made her stomach churn, "Well, I think Simone is crazy if she doesn't choose you."

He chuckled, "Why do you say that?"

She thought of a million reasons she could give him, but settled on, "Because you're, like, the nicest guy _ever_.

There was that crooked smile she loved so much, but it turned a bit rueful when he pointed out, "Nice guys don't get the girl," and it nearly broke her heart to hear the insecurity hidden in his words.

She smiled softly, nearly whispered, "Sure they do, you're just reading the wrong stories."


	13. Hope Inspires Girlish Squeals

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Angst, Romance, UST  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Last chapter we saw that Peter's restraint was slowly cracking… so let's see if I can't get it to crack some more. And Mirai Trunks (Future Trunks) really is Hiro's favorite superhero, and yes, I'm a huge manga/anime geek who watches Dragonball Z.

**Chapter Thirteen: Squelching Girlish Squeals**

"Hey, Claire, can you get that for me?" Peter, whose hands were elbow deep in dishwater, looked meaningfully at his ringing phone.

She made her way over to it and brought it up to her ear, "Hello?"

"_Hi, is this Claire?" _the voice on the other end asked.

She answered warily, "Yeah."

"_Hey, this is Isaac. This might seem a little random, but Hiro wants to have a Halloween party…" _

She smiled into the phone, "You're actually letting him throw a party?"

Isaac chuckled, _"Anything to help burn off some of that excess energy. Anyway, Hiro wants to go costume shopping, and I figured an outing with Hiro was something you guys definitely didn't want to miss."_

She grinned, "Hold on and let me ask Peter if he wants to go."

Claire went into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter beside Peter. Shifting the phone away from her mouth, she said, "Isaac wants to know if we want to go shopping for Halloween costumes with them." Peter arched his brow at her, and she realized just how amusing this must seem. "It was Hiro's idea," and that was all the explanation he needed.

"This should be good," he smirked, but then his expression turned apprehensive, "Wait. Is Niki going to be there?"

She hadn't given Niki's presence a passing thought, but now she couldn't think of anything else. She had vividmemories of _exactly_ what happened when Peter was around Niki, and hadn't she decided those images needed to be forgotten? Bringing the phone back to her mouth, "Uh, Isaac? Who all's going?"

"_Me, Hiro, Ando, D.L., and Micah,"_ he listed back.

Her brows drew up in confusion, "What about Niki and Mohinder?"

"_They're in India," _Isaac said.

"India?" Claire's expression turned incredulous, and Peter looked at her curiously.

"_Yeah, Mohinder said he knew someone there who might be able to help her, some sort of 'spirit guide,'" _Isaac explained. _"I know, it sounds ridiculous, but Mohinder swears it worked for him."_

She laughed. "So, are Micah and D.L. staying with you, then?"

"_Yep, it's pretty crowded, and there's a little too much testosterone for my tastes," _Isaac joked, _"but the little guy fixed my coffeemaker, so I had no choice but to let them stay." _He paused a moment, then referred back to the original purpose of the call, _"So, are you guys in?"_

---

"Nooo Spaaandeeex," D.L. over enunciated the words, "I'm not telling you again, man." Hiro nearly pouted as he put the Green Lantern costume back on the rack.

They'd found this huge store that sold and rented nothing but costumes and accessories. It was dimly lit, with Halloween decorations covering every available surface, and an excited Hiro kept rummaging through the multitude of racks.

He'd tried very hard to pick out costumes for everyone, but since he wasn't having much success, he was now looking for one for himself. "Batman?" He looked the costume over, "No," moved on to the next, "Superman?" stroked his chin thoughtfully, "No," bypassed it, "Wonder Woman? Double no."

Claire giggled at him, "What are you looking for Hiro?"

He put his hands on his hips, puffed his chest out, tilted his chin up proudly, "I want to be Mirai Trunks!" He then proceeded to do some weird series of jabs, ending with his arms outstretched, the forefingers and thumbs on either hand touching to form a diamond shape. "Burning Attack!" His fierce expression was replaced by an expectant smile.

When everyone stared at him blankly, Micah spoke up, "He's from Dragonball Z. Trunks is the guy from the future who killed off Freeza," but his explanation didn't clear anything up, although Hiro certainly seemed delighted by it. "Japanese anime?" Micah ventured, but when everyone continued wearing uncomprehending looks, he rolled his eyes, "Doesn't anyone watch TV?"

Hiro went back to sifting through the costumes, and Claire looked at him apologetically, "Hiro, I don't know if they'll have costumes of Japanese characters," but at his crestfallen expression, she hurried on, "But I'd be happy to help you look." Wide smile back in place, he grasped her wrist and started tugging her along, and she looked helplessly back at the others, who smirked amusedly as Hiro dragged her off to another aisle.

---

Witch. Vampire. Teletubby? Ugh. It felt like she'd been searching forever. She and Hiro had split up, hoping to cover more ground, but there was a slight flaw in that plan: she didn't know what the hell this costume was supposed to look like, and the only information she'd gleaned from Hiro's broken English was that Trunks wore a jacket and pants. Oh, and he had a sword.

And then she caught sight of it. Not Hiro's costume – for all she knew she'd already found a million of those. No, this one was for her. She reached out and trailed her fingers over the soft material.

"Having any luck?"

Jerking her hand back, she looked over to see Isaac sidling up to her. "Not really." There was an awkward little silence, which Claire broke by asking, "Have you done any painting lately?"

Isaac snorted, "I don't do anything _but_ paint, not that it's done any good. There's a bunch of pictures of our little 'gang.' And some man and woman appear in a couple, but God only knows who they are."

She nodded sympathetically, "It must be frustrating, having all those clues about the future but not having any idea what they mean."

"Yeah," he agreed, "But I think I've finally figured _one_ of them out." He reached out and caught hold of the costume she'd been looking at, "I painted you wearing _this_."

Her jaw dropped, and she was just about to tell him how incredible that was when she saw him glance over her shoulder. Furrowing her brows, she turned to see what had caught his attention.

"RAWR!"

She shrieked and jumped back into Isaac, who had burst into laughter at her reaction. In front of her stood a man, pulling off a werewolf mask, revealing Peter's grinning, triumphant face.

"You jerk!" She smacked his chest, and when he laughed at her, she smacked him again. "I can't believe you!" Another smack.

Still chuckling, he brought his arms around her shoulders and hugged her to him to put a stop to her hitting. She pouted, smacked him one more time for good measure, and said, "Just for that, you have to buy me a costume."

Peter lowered his hands, linking them at the small of her back, "Is that so?" She nodded. "What kind of costume?"

"It's a surprise," she smiled. When he didn't let go of her, she tentatively wrapped her arms around him, mimicking the way he was embracing her.

"Let me guess," there was a devious glint in his eyes, "French maid? Ooh, how 'bout a Catholic schoolgirl?"

Briefly unlinking her hands, she smacked his side, "You're awful!"

"And you're _violent_," he shot back.

She huffed. This wasn't getting her any closer to getting her costume, so maybe she needed to take matters into her own hands. She let one hand travel lower down his back, skimming over the waistband of his jeans, along the upper curve of his rear, finally reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. Smirking at him, she brought it up for him to see and waved it around.

"You little thief," he accused, grinning down at her.

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, "You'll get it back when I'm done with it. Now, go away."

"Talk about being ungrateful," he said, finally releasing her.

Nonplussed, she responded, "You'll get over it." Shaking his head at her, he turned and started walking away, but she thought he could use one last warning, "And don't you dare peek!"

Turning back to the costumes, she saw Isaac looking at her wearing a knowing smirk, "You _like _him."

Flushing, she stuttered, "What? No. I mean…" Isaac's grin widened, and she sighed, "Is it really that obvious?"

He didn't answer her question, probably to spare her the embarrassment. "If it makes you feel any better, he likes you, too."

What little bit of hope she had flared up with a vengeance, but she was quick to push it back down. She shook her head dejectedly, "I don't think so."

Isaac chuckled, "_Trust _me, he likes you."

---

Claire sat on the bedroom floor, taping up the bag containing her purchase. Peter kept laughing at her from his seat on the bed, telling her what she was doing was unnecessary, but she refused to take any chances. Finally satisfied, she stuck the bag under the dangling clothes on her side of the closet and then went and sat down beside Peter.

He smiled at her, "You looked like you were having fun today."

She returned his smile, "I did have fun. It's kind of cool, you know? Not long ago, we were all strangers, but now…"

Peter nodded, understanding that words she didn't say.

"Although, I feel kind of bad for Micah and D.L.," she went on, "It's got to be really hard on them – and Niki – having Jessica around, constantly trying to mess everything up for them."

Peter's expression clouded over, and she instantly realized her mistake. Obviously, that was going to be a sore subject, so why did she have to put her foot in her mouth?

But his next words surprised her, "I don't really think that's how the whole 'Jessica thing' works."

Tilting her head, she looked at him questioningly, "What do you mean?"

Glancing over at her, he studied her for a moment before finally saying, "Niki said Jessica made her do things she didn't want to do, right?"

"Right," she replied, a little unsure of what he was getting at.

He looked back out in front of him, "Just going off how I _reacted_, I think there's a little more to it than that."

It took her a moment to puzzle out the implications of his words. He thought there was more to it than that, more to it than Jessica just doing things against Niki's will… which meant Peter thought that whatever had taken over his body had done things that he didn't necessarily mind doing… and the only thing Peter knew of that he'd done was…

Claire's eyes widened, "You've wanted to kiss me before?"

Okay, so her question was seriously lacking in tact but the light blush that crept into Peter's cheeks more than made up for it. He looked down at his feet before meeting her gaze head on, "You're a beautiful girl, Claire."

That sense of hope roared back to life, and for the first time since she'd met Peter, she didn't try to stomp it out. "Do you ever think about, you know, _actually _kissing me?"

"I'm a _guy_," he said, as if that explained everything, "Of course, I think about it."

It was a heady thing, finally finding out that her feelings weren't _completely_ unreciprocated. "Do you think about it a lot?"

"You know what? I think that's enough questions for tonight." Abruptly, he stood and moved toward the head of the bed.

"Peter," she got up and trailed after him, "Just one more."

"Nope." He lifted the covers and gestured, "In."

She followed his orders, crawling onto the bed and lying down, but still refused to give up, "Please?"

He grinned at her, "Not a chance." Leaning over, he pulled the blankets up to cover her.

She pouted, gave him her best puppy dog face, "Just one more question, and I _promise_ I'll leave you alone."

Still bent over her, he sighed, "Fine. One more, but that's _all_."

Only one more question so she had better make it good. Gathering her courage, she forced herself to meet his gaze, "Do you want to kiss me right _now_?

Her heart pounded when Peter leaned in ever so slightly, "I plead the fifth," then he straightened up and made his way for the door.

She sputtered, "You can't do that!" He tossed a wave over his shoulder. "Peter!"

Turning off the light, he called back to her, "'Night Claire," and shut the door behind him.

In the darkened room, she stared at the closed door in a mixture of frustration and disbelief before finally turning her gaze up to the ceiling and allowing her lips to curl into a wide smile. Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face into her pillow, trying to squelch the urge to squeal like an excited little girl.

_Peter_ wanted to kiss her.


	14. Playing House

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **::rubs hands together gleefully:: Peter has a dirty, dirty mind, and Simone isn't quite as clueless anymore.

**Chapter Fourteen: Playing House**

Claire tiptoed out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel. Usually, she brought in clothes to wear after she showered, but she and Peter had been procrastinating with the laundry, and it wasn't like she had that many clothes here to begin with.

Making her way to the little utility room, she opened the dryer door only to furrow her brows in confusion when she saw it was empty. She straightened up and lifted the lid to the washer, and suddenly felt like an idiot. She had forgotten to put their laundry into the dryer. Grumbling, she pulled out the wet clothes and shoved them into the other machine before hurrying back to the bedroom to look for something else to wear.

Opening her drawer, she was thankful that she at least had some clean underwear, although, that was about the only thing that was clean. There were a couple shirts, a spaghetti strapped top and a blouse she didn't even remember owning, but they didn't really help her situation. Venturing over to the closet, she stared dismally at the single sweater that was hanging on her side.

But _Peter_ had plenty of clothes.

She thumbed through the hangers, trying to find a somewhat modest shirt for her to wear while her own clothes were drying, and finally, she pulled out a white button-down shirt. Letting her towel drop to the floor, she slid her arms into the long sleeves, used nimble fingers to fasten the buttons, and finally stepped into the underwear she'd retrieved from her drawer. Dropping the wet towel off in the hamper, she proceeded to the kitchen to see how Peter was faring with dinner.

She watched as Peter rummaged through the cabinets, a pot simmering on the stove. "What are we having tonight?"

Pulling out some sort of seasoning, he glanced over at her, "How does spaghetti…" his words came to a halt. His lips parted as he looked her over, and she could _feel_ his eyes trailing over her body, up the bare curves of her legs, to the shirt hem that merely _brushed_ the top of her thighs, higher still to the wet locks that curled around her breasts.

Claire fidgeted at the heat in his eyes, tucking her hands up into the sleeves of his shirt. She ducked her head and explained, "I didn't have any clean clothes," and when he still didn't say anything, she nervously shifted her weight, bending her knee and rubbing her foot along the side of her other leg. Peter's eyes followed the movement.

Her cheeks grew hot as she fumbled to end the silence, "I hope you don't mind me wearing your shirt." She fiddled with the ends of the sleeves and smiled awkwardly, "I figured you wouldn't want me running around in nothing but a towel."

Peter raised his eyes to hers, and his voice was gruff when he finally spoke, "No. That would've been bad."

"Right," she bit her lip, "very bad." She stood there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, darting her gaze up to Peter's, only to glance timidly away every time she saw that he was still looking at her. "Do you, uh, need any help with dinner?"

Her questioned seemed to make him come back to himself. He turned and looked over the stove, "Actually, do you think you could finish it up? I kind of want to take my own shower, and if I hurry I'll be out by the time this is ready."

A little bewildered, she replied, "Sure, Peter."

"Okay, then," he said, already backing out of the kitchen, "Just make sure to stir the noodles, and don't let the bread burn." She nodded, and then he was gone.

---

It was only a few minutes later that there was a knock on the door. Claire turned the burner off and went to see whom it was. "Simone?"

Simone looked her over, furrowing her brows, "Is Peter around?"

"Yeah," Claire replied, "But he's still in the shower," and then she saw Simone looking pointedly at her own freshly washed hair, and Claire realized what this must look like. "No, we didn't… not _together_," she giggled, but Simone didn't seem to share in her amusement. "Anyway, he should be out in just a sec, so you can wait if you want."

Simone followed her back into the kitchen and took a seat on one of the chairs as Claire started setting the table.

"Interesting shirt," Simone said.

Claire looked down instinctively, "Yeah, it's laundry day so I had to wear something of Peter's."

Simone gave her a thin smile, "And I'm guessing he didn't have any pants for you to wear?"

Claire flushed a little, didn't really know how to respond, "No?"

She was saved by Peter, who was coming into the kitchen wearing just his pajama pants like he usually did for bed. He'd either forgotten or was choosing to ignore the tension from earlier, and apparently, he had yet to see Simone because he was grinning widely, making his way straight to Claire, "I don't think I've told you this, but I'm kind of liking that conditioner you made me buy."

Claire giggled, reached up her hands and ran them through his wet hair, "I told you, it's good stuff. Makes your hair all soft."

He plucked up a lock of her own hair and coiled it around his fingers, "I know what you mean." Claire cast a self-conscious glance over to Simone, and Peter followed her gaze, eyes widening at the sight of her sitting, arms crossed, at his table. "Simone? What are you doing here?"

For whatever reason, Simone didn't comment on what had just happened, merely smiled at Peter and said, "I came by to see if you were free tonight."

"Uh," Peter glanced over at Claire, "Actually, Claire worked really hard on dinner, so…"

Claire scrunched her brows together. What was he talking about? He was the one who'd prepared everything; she'd just watched over it while he was in the shower. And how on earth could cooking _spaghetti_ be classified as hard work?

Even though Simone acted graciously in response to Peter's refusal, it was still obvious she wasn't pleased, so Peter compromised, "But since you're already here, you might as well stay. Have dinner with us." At Simone's hesitant acceptance, Claire set another place at the table.

---

"So," Simone addressed Peter, "Claire cooks for you and even does your laundry?"

Peter nodded, "She's a regular June Cleaver."

Claire scoffed at his joke, "Show's what _you_ know. _You're_ doing the dishes tonight."

He chuckled, responded with the indulgent, "Yes, Dear."

"But you do have a point, even D.L. called me your little woman," she conceded, sharing a smile with Peter at the memory, but her next words were a complaint, "Although, I think I'm getting gypped."

Peter arched his brow, amused at her tone, "Gypped? How so?"

"I'm performing all the duties of a wife, but I'm not getting any of the benefits," Claire waved her hand in irritation.

He grinned at her, "What sort of benefits do you want?"

And the suggestive undertones made her lips curl into a wicked smile even though her list began innocently enough, "You know, flowers, rings, foot massages," she quirked her brow at him, "_other _massages."

"I'll see what I can do," his response ended with a wink.

Suddenly, they were all too aware that Simone was still sitting with them, watching them, and Peter fumbled through an explanation, "No. I didn't mean… That's just how we talk," and she couldn't help giggling at how lame his excuse sounded.

But once again, Simone didn't question them, merely changed the subject, "So, how long is Claire going to be living here?" And that definitely sobered Claire's mood.

Peter shrugged, "As long as it takes."

"As long as _what_ takes?" Simone questioned.

"Well," Peter began, "We have to stop the explosion _and _catch the guy who's after her. And even then, I'm not sure if it's a good idea for her to go home. There's something really shady going on with her dad."

"So what, you're just going to keep her here?" Simone asked, and Claire was a bit miffed at the way they were talking about her as if she wasn't there.

Peter shrugged one shoulder, confirming that was _exactly_ what he planned on doing.

Simone gave him a disbelieving look, "What about her schooling? Her future?" then turned to Claire, "You may not think so, but those things are important. Have you given any thought to what you want to be when you grow up?"

Claire's hands balled into fits, and it was all she could do to suppress the anger at having her age thrown in her face, whether or not Simone had meant it that way. She looked over at Simone and responded in all seriousness, "A crash test dummy. I think I'd be good at it."

"This isn't something to joke about," Simone admonished.

Before Claire could let out another sarcastic remark, Peter intervened, "So we don't have everything figured out, yet, and nothing's going to get solved tonight so let's just enjoy the rest of the meal."

---

Simone had just left, and Claire fumed while she helped Peter clear the table, muttered under her breath, "_Stupid Simone_."

Her words were a little too loud because Peter started chuckling when he heard her, "Maybe so, but she does have a point," and his words made her instantly deflate. "We haven't been thinking in the long-term, and maybe it's time we start doing that."

Claire felt her heart sink. This was it. This was when he told her that they'd have to find another place for her to go.

"Tell me something, Claire," Peter's voice was tender, "Do you like it here?" Slowly, she nodded her head, and his lips had a hint of a smile when he said, "I like having you here, too."

She grinned up at him, couldn't resist teasing, "You just like having someone here to do your laundry."

"Or _maybe_," he countered, "I just like playing house," which, now that she thought about it, was an amusing, yet appropriate label for what they were doing. "But seriously, if you're going to stay here we're going to have to make some decisions, such as what to do about your education, you know, in case that career as a crash test dummy doesn't pan out."

Claire pouted, "You mean, you're not going to let me mooch off you forever?"

He inclined his head, quirked his brow, "Seeing as how you won't live forever…"

His words inadvertently reminded her of what Mohinder had told her about her abilities, and though she hadn't given it much thought before, now, with all this talk of the future, it suddenly seemed very important. "Actually, that might not be the case."

Peter gave her a questioning look so she relayed to him what Mohinder had said, and that, with her regeneration powers, there was no telling how _long _her life was going to be. "When I die, I just wake right back up. What if I really am going to live forever?" The full implications were finally hitting her, a sick feeling taking hold in her gut, "I'll have to watch as everyone I care about dies, and I… I'm going to be all alone."

He reached out and cupped her jaw, brushed his thumb along the fine bone of her cheek, "You're not going to be alone." His eyes bore into hers, willing her to see the meaning behind his words, but it felt like there were so many things he was trying to say, too many, and the only thing she understood was that, for some reason, he'd just promised never to leave her. And he was the only person in the world capable of keeping a promise like that.

She wanted to make the same promise back, let him know that he never had to be alone either, but doubt and insecurity roared up inside her, forcing her to lower her gaze, make her standard teasing comment, "I know you said you liked playing house, but I didn't know you wanted to play _that_ long."

If he was disappointed, he didn't show it, merely lowered his hand down to the bottom of the shirt she wore, toyed with the hem. He gave her that crooked grin of his, "If you keep prancing around here wearing nothing but my shirts, I'll play however long you want me to."


	15. Show Me the Ropes

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.  
**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **This would've been up earlier but I was sick with strep throat (still am, actually), and I was too busy contemplating how best to remove my own tonsils. My apologies. But the chapter's long, so that should help. I did sort of get carried away…

**Chapter Fifteen: Show Me the Ropes**

Claire headed into the living room to see Peter sprawled out on the couch watching television, and a quick glance at the screen made her cringe. Lately, Peter had this ridiculous obsession with watching the evening news, and while she understood that he was just feeling restless and nervous about the impending explosion, enough was enough. Maybe she just needed to provide him with a distraction.

She strolled over to him, turned, and plopped down on his stomach, smiled down at him as if she'd just done the most natural thing in the world.

He didn't seem fazed, merely raised an eyebrow at her, "Are you comfortable?"

She shrugged one shoulder, tilted her hand a few times in an iffy gesture, "Eh."

Grinning, "C'mere," he pulled her down to lie on his chest, "Better?"

In response, she snuggled in closer and let out a contented sigh, "I could get used to this."

"Yeah?" his hand moved to rest lightly along her spine.

She nodded into his shirt, "_Definitely_. I swear, if you would've shown off this body more in high school, you would've had no problem landing a cheerleader."

Chuckling, "Is that right?"

She tilted her head up to look at him, expression clearly reading 'duh,' "You're like, total eye candy."

His voice was amused, indulgent, "Really?"

Shifting fully onto her stomach, she folded her arms on top of his chest, and used them to prop her chin up. Smiling, she told him matter-of-factly, "One of these days, I'm just gonna jump you."

He brought both his hands up to span right below the sides of her waist, helping to balance her on top of him, then grinned, "Good to know I have something to look forward to."

Tilting her chin down, she looked up at him coyly, "Look forward to? You mean you're not going to push me away?"

He nearly snorted, responded with the wry, "We'll see how much self-restraint I have when the time comes."

Intrigued, she tried to feel him out, tease him into letting her know if his reply contained any truth, "So there's a chance you'd let me have my way with you?"

"I'm not allowed to participate?" he pretended to be put out.

"Ooh, good thinking," she approved, "I might need someone to," a playful glance at his lips, "show me the ropes."

He groaned, accused her, "You're trying to kill me."

Giggling, she denied, "Killing you is the last thing on my mind." She punctuated her words by letting her leg slide over and hook around one of his.

And then the front door flew open.

Their eyes immediately shot to the figure in the doorway. Nathan Petrelli stood there, arms crossed, brow raised, "Well, now, what do we have here?"

She scrambled off of Peter, who looked like a teenage boy whose parents had just caught him with his hands down his girlfriend's pants. She stood there for the few seconds it took before Nathan sent her away from the living room, an order she was too embarrassed to protest, and then she retreated to the safety of the bedroom while the brothers talked. She wasn't sure what Nathan wanted to discuss but figured she'd just made the top of the list.

---

"I need a favor," Nathan said, but the way he said it was hardly a request.

When Peter answered, he merely sounded resigned, "What now?"

"There's this event I need you to attend with me," Nathan replied.

"Don't worry," Peter suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, "I already told Mom I'd go to that gala with you guys for some last minute schmoozing."

Nathan sounded pleased when he answered, "Good, but that's not the event I'm talking about. There's this Halloween function, and a lot of very important people are going to be there."

Peter wasn't impressed, "Sorry, I can't. I already made plans with Claire."

Nathan's lips twisted into some amalgamation of a smirk and a sneer, "I'm sure you did, but _those_ kinds of plans can wait."

"It's not like that," Peter denied, "We're going to a party at Isaac's."

"That's just wonderful," Nathan responded dryly, "Instead of helping out your big brother, you're going to fraternize with a junkie."

"Isaac's not using anymore," Peter defended, but his brother ignored him.

"What about that gallery woman? Simone, right? She usually runs in our circles," Nathan pointed out.

"So?"

"_So_," Nathan continued, "She'll most likely be there. I think she's a good match for you."

Peter gave him an annoyed expression, "Since when do you care who I date?"

"Since you started robbing the cradle," Nathan hissed.

Peter glared at his brother for a long moment. "She's seventeen."

Nathan stared down at him in near horror, "Don't tell me... Are you _falling_ for this girl?"

Peter looked away, didn't say anything.

"Fuck, Peter." Nathan pointed an accusing finger at him, "Only _you_ could manage to get yourself wrapped around the finger of some little girl."

"Fuck you, Nathan!" Peter rose to his feet, faced off against his brother, "Why do you even want me at that party if I'm such an embarrassment?"

Nathan answered coolly, "My PR team thinks it would generate goodwill for me to be seen out with my _ailing_ brother."

Peter's fists clenched, remembering how his brother had twisted what happened, publicly announced he was some suicidal nutcase. "You have some nerve."

"Peter, the election is barely more than a week away," Nathan placated, voice beseeching, "I need you to do this for me."

"Of course, you do!" Peter exploded, "Everything's _always_ about you!"

Nathan raised a sardonic brow. "Who dropped everything to bail _you_ out of jail?" he challenged, "Who made the arrangements to get your little girlfriend here in the first place?"

Peter tightened his jaw, eyes burning in anger, but he didn't argue.

"I'm not asking for much," Nathan reached out a hand and clasped Peter's shoulder, "I just really need your support in this."

---

When Claire finally ventured back into the living room, Peter was alone, sitting on the floor, back propped up against the couch. His elbows rested on bent knees, head held in his hands. Tentatively, she made her way over to him. She wanted to comfort him, reach out and touch him, but didn't know if he'd want her to.

He took the decision out of her hands, sliding his hands around to the back of her thighs, urging her closer until she was kneeling between his bent legs, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist. For a while, he just held her there, and she brought her hands up to cradle his head against her, used her fingers to massage his scalp, hoping it would soothe him. She didn't know what he and Nathan had talked about, but obviously, something had upset him.

"I have some bad news about the party," he finally said.

"Oh?" she questioned, voice soft, willing to listen to whatever he had to say, to help him in whatever capacity she could.

"My _presence_ has been requested elsewhere," he said disdainfully.

Lowering her hands, she let them rest at the back of his neck, "It's okay," she assured, trying to hide her disappointment from him.

"No, it's not. Some of the things he said…" he trailed off, but he seemed angry, or maybe just really on edge, "Nathan can be a real asshole."

Claire smiled softly, "So I gathered."

"But he's my brother," Peter relented, "And he's not _all_ bad."

She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, agreed just to be agreeable, "Yeah, his heart's probably in the right place."

Peter laughed and shook his head, "It's not even in the same _vicinity_ as the right place." She giggled, tucked his bangs back behind his ear. When her giggles died down, he looked up at her, expression tender, "I'm sorry I won't be able to go with you."

She smiled, her voice taking on that suggestive lilt she'd grown so accustomed to using with Peter. "I have a few suggestions on how you can make it up to me…"

Seeing the lascivious look on her face, he arched a brow and warned, "The next words out of your mouth better not have anything to do with condoms."

She pouted.

It wasn't much longer before Claire grew uncomfortable from sitting on her knees too long, finally shifted her weight, turning her body in the circle of his arms, and extended her legs out in front of her, settling herself in between his thighs. He didn't remove his arms, so she relaxed into him, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder.

He was warm and solid, and every once in a while, she could feel his jaw graze her cheek, and suddenly, the strangest idea popped into her head. "Peter, do you think I could get a hickey?"

"Is that a request?" he teased.

She slapped him lightly on the thigh, "I'm serious. A hickey's a bruise, right? So would my healing just get rid of it?"

"I don't know," she felt him shrug behind her, "Maybe."

Turning her head to the side so she could see him, she gave him a tempting smile, waggled her eyebrows, "Do you want to find out?"

"What?" he laughed a little, amused.

She nudged her forehead against his chin, "It'll be like an experiment," she cajoled.

Doubtful, he questioned, "An experiment?"

Facing ahead, she reached around and pulled her hair to one side, exposing her neck to him, "Come on, Peter," she playfully urged, tilting her head over, offering him her throat, "You know you want to."

Peter didn't say anything, and Claire was just about to let go of her hair, give up on her little game when he finally responded, voice fractionally deeper than it was before, "I guess, for the sake of _science_."

Claire giggled at his words, giggled even more when she felt his lips tickle her neck, but then his tongue flicked out over her skin, and all her giggling abruptly stopped. She sucked in a breath when he did it again, using his tongue to moisten her skin, lips nipping along the base of her throat.

Her heart sped up, then nearly stopped all together at the feel of his lips caressing over the crook of her neck. She clenched her fists against the urge to touch him, afraid that any movement from her might break whatever spell he was under. He sucked her skin into his mouth, worried it between his teeth, sucked harder still, and her eyes fell closed, lips parting as she drew in ragged breaths. Oh, God. Was this even happening? He'd hinted at his precarious hold on his self-control, but she'd had no idea that all it would take was a small push, just a little nudge, to get him to fall over the edge.

He suckled for a while longer before pulling away ever so slightly, laving the mark with his tongue, pressing a few stray kisses into her neck, and was he _stopping_? Claire's hands shot out to grasp the tops of his thighs, refusing to let him go anywhere, "This is a very important experiment, Peter," she told him breathlessly, "You have to do a good job."

He chuckled, nuzzled into the sensitive skin behind her ear, "Don't worry," he whispered huskily, "I'll be very thorough." His words shot straight down to her core, her body coiling, muscles clenching, and his tongue was trailing back down, leaving wet, openmouthed kisses along the column of her throat, to the crook of her neck, teeth scraping sensuously across her skin. Pressing her back more firmly against his chest, she could feel one of his hands splayed across her tummy, holding her to him, and the other slid up along her arm, fingered the thin strap of her shirt, before smoothing it down over her shoulder, trailing smoldering kisses in its wake.

She dug her fingers into his thighs as he pulled back ever so slightly and blew a cool stream of air across the curve of her shoulder, her skin prickling as she trembled in his arms. His lips were wreaking havoc on her body, tasting, suckling, doing sinful things to her insides. She felt his fingers moving idly across the skin on her lower abdomen, back and forth, circling her navel, dipping inside.

His other hand traced delicious lines up and down her side, over her hip, into the dip of her waist, even higher, under her arm, not quite brushing the side of her breast, respectfully keeping his hands from touching her anywhere inappropriate, and it was starting to frustrate the hell out of her. She twisted body, seeking out his touch, stopped when his hand was where she wanted, cupping her breast, and she shivered when his thumb brushed against her nipple, the barest of touches, then did it _again_, over and over, nearly making her pant, sending little bursts of electricity dancing up her spine.

He pressed heated kisses along her skin, down to the strap the hung uselessly over her shoulder, and back up, over to her throat, before drawing the sensitive flesh into his mouth and sucking _hard_. She whimpered, let her head fall back onto his shoulder, blindly reaching up and burying a hand in his hair, desperately holding him to her. Arching into his touch, she closed her eyes, just let herself _feel_.

His hand molded her breast, while his other stroked along the waistband of her jeans, fingered the little button, the only thing keeping him from having her, and she tilted her hips up, her silent permission, but his finger just kept circling that button. She turned her face toward him, made needy sounds as she nuzzled his jaw, rubbing wantonly against his chest, nestling further back between his thighs.

And his hands suddenly shot to her hips, stilling her movement, as he breathed harshly against the base of her neck. Claire slid a hand across his cheek, caressed his jaw, then tried to _shift_, but his hands gripped her harder, preventing her from taking things any farther.

The air was thick and heavy, and the longer he held her, the more aware she was that they were, indeed, stopping, and she couldn't help but flush, feeling a little humiliated by his rejection, especially since she'd practically thrown herself at him. It was just really more than she could handle right now, "I'm going to go look in the mirror. You know, to see if the… _experiment_ worked."

Peter nodded into her shoulder, responded hoarsely, "I think that's a good idea."

Awkwardly, she stood up, his arms falling back down to his sides, and hurried off toward the bathroom. When she reached the bathroom door, she chanced a glance back at Peter, who was sitting right where she left him. He scrubbed his hand over his face, and then, sensing her looking at him, turned his head to meet her gaze.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but his eyes were heated and intense, full of longing, and frankly, he looked _caged_. She held his gaze as long as she could stand, both terrified and exhilarated by how vulnerable he made her feel.

And this was where her experience ended. It was safe before, just wanting Peter, flirting with him, but now he was responding to her more than she'd ever anticipated he would. She wanted to take the next step, but she wasn't sure how, not even sure she knew what the next step _was_, didn't know if he'd be willing to take that step _with_ her. God, she suddenly felt so out of her depth. Tearing her eyes away from his, she ducked her head and darted into the bathroom.

Closing the door behind her, she pressed herself back against the wall, desperately trying to process everything, figure out all the nuances of what had just happened. He'd touched her, had his hands all over her, and it was so much better than that night at Isaac's because, unlike then, Peter knew what he was doing, had chosen to do it.

But now she didn't know where they stood with each other. Peter wanted her. She knew that much, but wanting her and actually letting himself be with her were two very different things. For all she knew, he might regret what just happened, chalk it up as a mistake not to be repeated.

When she finally peered up into the mirror, she hesitated, then pulled the hair back away from her neck. There was no mark, not a trace that he was ever there, but she could still feel the sweet burn of his lips on her skin.


	16. Can't Get You Out of My Head

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone for being patient and wishing me well. I've been pretty drugged up so it took me a while to finish this, not to mention I had tons of stuff to cover and quite a few characters to juggle. It's very plot-y. Anyway, I'm feeling much better now, so the updates should pick back up.

**Chapter Sixteen: Can't Get You Out of My Head**

Claire opened the cabinet door, stood on her tiptoes, and reached for the bowls on the top shelf. She huffed in annoyance when she couldn't get to them. Sometimes being short really had its disadvantages.

"Let me get that," Peter offered, pulling out a bowl and handing it to her. When his hand grazed hers, he hastily pulled it away, and she tried not to be hurt by his reluctance to touch her. She turned around and offered him a timid smile, but he wouldn't even look her in the eye.

Ever since their little _experiment_ last night, things had been all awkward and tense. They hadn't talked about it, choosing to ignore the giant elephant in the room, skirting around it, both painfully aware it was there.

When a knock sounded at the door, Peter rushed off to answer it, and she honestly couldn't fault him for his relief at the distraction. They'd been bumbling around each other all morning, and if she had any measure of courage, she would've just called him out about what happened. But she was terrified of what he might say, didn't think she could face the rejection that his behavior suggested was coming.

Curiously, she put down her bowl beside the box of cereal on the counter and ventured out to the living room to see who was there. Peter was standing in front of the partially opened door, barring whoever was on the other side from coming on.

He suddenly winced and grabbed his head, stumbling back a few steps. Her eyes widened, "Peter!" and she hurried to him, reaching out her hands to steady him.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Claire's gaze darted up to the woman who'd just spoken – the same woman who'd questioned her about what had happened the night of Homecoming.

---

The woman, who'd introduced herself as an FBI Agent Audrey Hanson and her partner, Matt Parkman, had reached a dead end in their investigation and had come to see if Peter might be of any further assistance since he'd seemed to have some sort of insight about the killer when they'd last talked to him.

"This is kidnapping," Audrey accused.

"I'm trying to protect her," defended Peter.

"Why don't you let us worry about that," Audrey retorted, voice grim and a little on the patronizing side.

They were all sitting around Peter's living room, she and Peter together on the couch, Matt and Audrey in chairs they'd pulled up. Claire's shoulders hunched over as she looked nervously down at the floor, a sick feeling of dread festering in her stomach. These people were going to make her go home.

"Don't worry," Peter reassured her, "No one's taking you anywhere."

She didn't have time to be surprised that he'd known exactly what she was thinking because Audrey was talking again, "_Yes_, we are," she argued, "As soon as you finish answering our questions, she's going home."

Claire could feel herself starting to panic a little. They were going to take her away, send her back to her dad, and there was no way she could escape getting her memories erased this time. Oh, God. He would make her forget Peter.

Matt's eyes were boring into her, "Your dad can have your memories erased?"

She looked at him, stunned. He'd asked the question so carefully, as if her answer was very important. She hesitated, then nodded, "There's this man who works for him…"

"The Haitian," Matt answered for her and turned to Audrey, "Maybe it's not a good idea if we send her home."

"Fine," Audrey conceded, "Then we'll take her into protective custody,"

Peter shook his head, starting to get agitated. "You think protective custody is going to stop this guy? You obviously don't know what he's capable of."

Audrey raised her brow, "We know he's _capable_ of mass murder…"

"This isn't your run-of-the-mill serial killer," Peter shot back heatedly; "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Then why don't you tell us," replied Audrey, the challenge clear in her voice.

Claire watched as Peter met the challenge, staring unflinchingly back at the agent. After an endless moment, his jaw clenched, and he turned his gaze to her. His eyes were intense on hers, and all she could do was look back at him helplessly, desperately hoping he could come up with a way to keep her with him.

The corner of his mouth curled up, took on a hint of a smile, as he turned back to Audrey, "I'll do even better. I'll help you catch him."

Audrey looked at him doubtfully, "How do you intend on doing that?"

"There's a list," Peter explained, "of all his future targets."

"He's telling the truth," Matt added, face contorted in that ever-present expression of concentration.

Peter's eyes flickered over to him, complained irritably, "Would you stay out of my head?"

Out of his head? Claire's eyes flew over to Matt as the dots started linking themselves together. So this guy had special abilities just like them. That certainly explained a lot.

"Okay," Audrey said, "Show us this list."

"On one condition," Peter said.

Audrey raised her brow, "What's that?"

"Claire stays with me."

Her heart nearly flipped at his words. Seeing him like this, filled with determination, willing to do anything for her – it was no wonder she'd fallen for him. Peter glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she couldn't help thinking that he really was the most amazing person she'd ever met.

"We've already been over this," Audrey said, "It's illegal for her to stay here."

Peter shrugged, refused to budge, "That's the deal. Let Claire stay, and I'll tell you everything I know, help you in any way I can," at Audrey's reluctance, "You won't be able to catch this guy without my help. I can pretty much guarantee that."

Audrey exchanged a look with her partner, who inclined his head. "Fine. Deal."

"Okay, then," Peter agreed, "Let's go get that list."

---

The four of them stood outside of Isaac's door as Peter knocked.

"What's the password?" asked Hiro's accented voice.

Claire rolled her eyes and shared a grin with Peter, "It's Claire and Peter. Let us in."

"Password first."

Peter sighed, "Hiro, you never told us any password."

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. Then Hiro asked, "How do I know you are who you say?"

Audrey shuffled around, annoyed and impatient, while Matt just looked amused by the whole situation. Peter sighed, told them, "Give me a sec," then leaned in close to the door… and disappeared.

A moment later, Hiro let out a surprised squeal, and the door opened to reveal Peter standing on the other side. Claire smirked up at Matt and Audrey's shocked faces as Peter gestured, "Come on in."

When they entered Isaac's apartment, Claire was convinced that those wide-eyed expressions would never leave the partners' faces. The place was covered from wall to wall in paintings. Micah was sitting on the floor with parts strewn out all around him, and Ando was kneeling beside him, urging him to hurry up with the TV, to which Micah responded, "Chill."

D.L. had his arm _through_ the refrigerator door, blindly rummaging around for something, before pulling his arm out, bending down, and phasing his entire head through the door. Still not finding what he wanted, he stood back up and called out in annoyance, "Who drank the last of the milk?"

Hiro looked down guiltily, then perked right back up, "I will get more!" He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, disappeared, then reappeared beside D.L. holding a gallon of milk.

"Thanks, man," D.L. clapped the little guy on the back.

"Who _are_ you people?" Audrey cut in, staring around at everything as if she couldn't believe it was actually happening.

Seeing the two strangers, D.L. froze, "We're…" he looked helplessly around the kitchen, hoping it would provide him with an explanation, "…magicians."

Peter chuckled, "It's okay," he reassured, "This is Matt Parkman and Audrey Hanson," then he pointed out Matt, "He's one of us."

Matt gave a little wave, and Hiro's eyes positively lit up. "You have power?"

Matt looked around a little warily, "Yeah, I can hear what people are thinking."

Amazed, Hiro gasped audibly. He then closed his eyes and waited expectantly. Befuddled, Matt just stared at him. Hiro opened one eye, peeked out at Matt, then snapped it back shut.

Claire giggled, "I think he wants you to read his mind."

Matt raised his eyebrows, "Ookaay." He concentrated for a moment before giving Hiro a puzzled look, "What's Cerebro? And why do you want to hook me up to it?"

Hiro didn't answer, just clapped his hands and smiled excitedly, then turned to Audrey, "You have power?"

Audrey responded flatly, "I'm extremely good with a gun."

At Hiro's confused look, Claire interjected, "Hiro, I don't think she has a power."

Understanding came over him, and he turned back to Audrey and tried to reassure her, "Don't feel bad," he inclined his head toward Matt, "You can be his sidekick."

Matt sniggered, and when Audrey glared up at him, he started coughing, trying to cover up his laughter.

"I have a sidekick, too," Hiro boasted, and suddenly he was standing there with his arm around the shoulders of a bewildered looking Ando.

"I think mine's prettier," Matt teased, and Audrey folded her arms across her chest, clearly not amused, but Matt just looked down at her innocently.

Hiro opened his mouth, and for a moment it looked like he was about to argue in Ando's defense, but then he deflated and looked Matt over appraisingly, "You have won this round."

Audrey's impatience was running thin, "Would somebody mind giving me some answers? I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone."

"Not Twilight Zone," Hiro corrected, "Secret lair. Like Hall of Justice."

Audrey responded dumbly, "Hall of Justice?"

"You mean you haven't guessed, yet?" Peter spread his arms out and smirked, "We're superheroes."

And the looks on Matt and Audrey's faces? Totally priceless.

"Hey guys," Claire had just realized something, "Where's Isaac?"

---

They were gathered around this little partitioned off area that Isaac apparently used to do his painting. His eyes were eerily white as he worked on his latest prophecy. This was the first time Claire had actually witnessed one of Isaac's trances, and she imagined she wore the same amazed look as Matt and Audrey.

When his eyes finally cleared, he pulled away and looked at the picture of Hiro, who was forming a letter with his body. Isaac shook his head, "You've got to be kidding me. This is the fifth one of these I've painted so far."

She giggled at Hiro's sheepish look.

Isaac looked around him, didn't even seem surprised to see them, and his gaze finally settled on Matt and Audrey, "Hey, I was wondering when you guys would show up," then looked pointedly over at one of the paintings on display: a picture of Matt and Audrey wearing shocked expressions and the same clothes as the real life versions.

"Is this the man and woman you were talking about at the costume shop?" Claire queried.

Isaac nodded. Then, "So, who are they anyway?"

"They're from the FBI," Peter explained, "They're trying to hunt down the killer."

Chuckling mirthlessly, Isaac glared around at his paintings, "Join the club."

---

After a huge round of introductions and explanations, after which Matt and Audrey still looked completely overwhelmed, they'd finally pulled out Mohinder's list.

"This is actually a list of people with special abilities, people like us," Peter explained, "The killer – _Sylar_," tested out the alias they'd just learned, "is targeting these people."

"Matt," Audrey looked over at him.

He merely nodded, having seen his name on the list, too, "I know."

"Sylar's victims are all on this list," Audrey noted, "Except one. Jackie Wilcox."

Claire looked down, ashamed, "That was a mistake. She wasn't supposed to die." Sure, she and Jackie had a falling out, but Claire didn't know if she'd ever stop feeling guilty over Jackie's death.

Peter whispered tenderly, "It wasn't your fault," and it really was amazing how he always seemed to know just what to say.

"So," Isaac began, addressing Matt and Audrey, "What do you guys know about this Sylar guy?"

Audrey answered, voice professional, "We know that he mutilates his victims. He removes their brains, probably keeps them as some sort of trophy. He uses a sharp tool to remove the top of the skull, but we've never found any murder weapon."

"That's because he doesn't need a weapon, or any other kind of tool for that matter," Peter said, "He's telekinetic."

Audrey stared at Peter for a moment before repeating doubtfully, "Telekinetic."

"Yeah," he tapped a finger against his temple, "he moves things with his mind."

"I know what 'telekinetic' means," Audrey replied irritably, "What I'm wondering is how _you _would know something like this."

Peter shrugged one shoulder carelessly, "I fought him."

D.L. grinned, added his two cents, "Peter here went all Jedi and kicked some serious ass. Well, up until he was stabbed with the bedpost."

Wryly, Peter responded, "Thanks."

"No problem."

Matt wore this amused little grin, "You were stabbed with a bedpost?"

"Yeah," Peter motioned to his abdomen, "Right through the gut."

"And you survived?"

Peter smiled over at Claire affectionately, "I have an amazing doctor. Healed me right up."

---

Claire wandered around with the others as they looked at the multitude of paintings. D.L. kept complaining about this portrait of him, arm covered in some weird marks, possibly burns, and Audrey seemed particularly interested in this painting of a human brain cradled in the palm of some unknown person's hand.

At one point, Hiro had called out, "Flying Man!" and Peter seemed surprised to see a picture of a man soaring above the desert.

"You know someone who can _fly_?" Matt questioned in disbelief.

Peter waved a negligent hand, "Yeah, my brother. He's running for Congress." Matt shook his head, deciding just to go with it.

"Hey Audrey," Matt pointed out a picture of what looked to be a caveman, "Doesn't this remind you of Ted?" And Peter was on him in a flash, asking questions, trying to figure out if Matt's offhanded comment had any bearing on the painting.

When Audrey explained that Ted was somehow capable of generating radiation, Peter shared a meaningful look with Isaac, muttered something about the cause of the explosion, and started asking Matt and Audrey even more questions.

It was kind of cool, watching Peter take charge like that, stepping up and becoming their natural leader. She couldn't help feeling proud of him. Out of all the people in the world, she was incredibly grateful that he was the one who'd saved her. There were times when Peter could be so insecure, but now he seemed to be in his element, eyes fierce, face filled with determination. God, he was beautiful.

Peter paused in the middle of asking something and glanced over at her, his expression indecipherable. She gave him a questioning look, but he didn't say anything, just hesitated before turning back to finish his question.

Shrugging, she cast her attention back on the paintings and saw one of a body covered up by a sheet, and a trickle of dread crept along her spine. Someone was going to die.

"Depressing, isn't it?"

Claire jumped a little, caught off guard by Isaac's voice. "Yeah," she finally agreed, "What did I tell you about painting happier things?"

Grinning, "Funny you mention that," he replied, gesturing for her to follow him, "Come on. There's something I want to show you."

He led her over to a bunch of paintings leaning up against the wall. Thumbing through them, he stopped upon finding the one he wanted. "Look."

Peering down at the painting, her heart nearly stopped. She was dressed in her costume, arms clasped around Peter's neck, his lips just a hairsbreadth away from hers.

Her eyes darted up to Isaac's grinning face, "I _told_ you he liked you."

She looked down at the painting, then back up at Isaac, lips curling into a slow smile. She shook her head, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. "Isaac. You're the _greatest_."

He chuckled and ruffled her hair.

Reluctantly, she tore herself away from the painting and headed back over to the group. She sidled up to Peter, still smiling.

"So, why's Isaac so great?" Peter asked, and though he was grinning, it seemed a little forced.

Flushing a little, she tried to wave off his question, "It's nothing."

When he didn't seem satisfied by her answer, she had the brief thought that he knew what she and Isaac were talking about but quickly dismissed it, knowing Isaac wouldn't have told him.

Peter's eyes narrowed, "If it's nothing, why are you blushing?"

Glancing away from him, she fidgeted with the bottom hem of her shirt. He couldn't possibly know, so why was he pressing this?

The longer she waited to answer, the more agitated Peter seemed to get, and she really didn't understand what had come over him at all. She'd just been talking to Isaac. Unless… but surely not. "Are you _jealous_?"

It was Peter's turn to look away, "Of course not," but he didn't sound too convincing.

She looked up at him incredulously, couldn't believe he actually was jealous. He must've felt threatened that she'd been talking and laughing with some other guy, that she'd called someone besides him 'great.' At first, the knowledge made her incredibly giddy, but the feeling faded quickly, leaving her with this meddled up ball of irritation and resentment.

What did _he _have to be jealous about? He was everything to her, and it was more than obvious that he was the only one she wanted. It wasn't like he had any real competition, not like she did. If anyone had a right to be jealous, it was _her_. He had a whole other girlfriend in the picture.

Peter looked down at her with this sad, almost pained expression, then reached out and interlaced her fingers with his, and though she really wasn't happy with him at the moment, she couldn't help giving him a little smile. It was the first time he'd intentionally touched her since their little experiment.

Matt interrupted whatever weird moment they were having, "Okay, I've got to ask, what's with the science experiment fascination? I keep catching stray thoughts…"

Claire flushed and watched as Peter turned his own shade of red. Their hands had suddenly gotten sticky, but she couldn't tell if her palm was sweating or his.

All these memories raced through her mind: his mouth moving sensually across her skin, his hand caressing her breast, heating her up, making her want…

Matt's cheeks turned pink, "Oh. Forget I asked."

---

She and Peter sat in the back of the darkened cab, watching the streetlights race by the windows, finally going home after the long day at Isaac's. As far as she knew, Matt and Audrey would keep their end of the deal and let her stay with Peter in exchange for their help.

"I'm pretty sure they will," Peter reassured.

Her eyes widened, realizing she hadn't spoken the thought aloud. He'd just heard what she was thinking, which actually made a lot of sense seeing as he'd just spent the day in close quarters with a telepath. And as soon as she made that connection, she couldn't help wondering how much else he'd heard. Had he been able to read her thoughts all day?

"I didn't mean to listen," and he really did look apologetic, "but I can't control it."

She bit her lip nervously, "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," he responded, but the way he said it and the fact that he wouldn't even look at her let her know he was just trying to keep her from being embarrassed. But it really wasn't working.

She covered her face with her hands, "Oh God, if I could kill myself, I would."

He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Claire," and when she wouldn't talk to him, he pulled her over to him, and she buried her face into his chest, anything to keep from having to face him. She tried to catalogue everything she'd thought that day, everything he might now know. This was a nightmare.

Peter sighed, which told her that even now, he could hear what she was thinking. "Claire, the way you think of me… No one's ever…" he let out another sigh, ran his fingers through her hair, "You have no idea how much that means to me."

She kept her face against his chest, remembering all those random looks he'd kept giving her, looks that apparently weren't so random after all. All day, she would've killed to have him touch her again, to be back in his arms, but she wasn't sure if this scenario was worth it. Scratch that. She knew it wasn't worth it because she'd just inadvertently admitted how much she liked it when he touched her. This had to be the most humiliating moment of her life.

His hand ran down her back soothingly, "What if I let you in on one of my secrets? Would that make you feel better?"

She doubted it but was willing to try anything at this point. Her voice, small and childlike, "Maybe."

He pressed a kiss into her hair, rested his cheek on the top of her head, and whispered, "No matter how hard I try, I can't get you out of my head, either."


	17. Here's to the Night

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation.

**A/N: **I'm just going to stop approximating when my chapters will come out because I'm almost always wrong, lately. This one sort of got away from me and became a _lot_ longer than it was supposed to be. I thought about splitting it up but decided it worked better as a whole. Oh, and for any and all DBZ fans, don't ream me for not using the Japanese spellings. Now, excuse me while I run and hide.

**Chapter Seventeen: Here's to the Night**

"Smile, Claire!"

She raised her brow, unamused, as Peter took another picture with the disposable camera she'd insisted on getting for Hiro's Halloween party. Leaning in closer to the bathroom mirror, she started applying soft pink lipstick to her parted lips, and the flash went off again.

She shot him an annoyed look, which he completely ignored in favor of grinning at her like a loon, "Hey, go put on your cheerleading uniform."

"No," she refused, shaking her head exasperatedly, "And stop wasting my pictures."

"I'm _not _wasting them," he insisted, giving her this exaggerated leer, "I'm going to get _plenty_ of use out of these."

She just stared at him, dumbfounded. Ever since their conversation in the cab, it was like he was going out of his way to flirt with her, showering her with all his attention, but it was always teasing and playful. He hadn't made a single allusion to that little confession he'd made, and she didn't know what to make of that, definitely didn't know how it fit in with his current behavior. Guys were just confusing.

"Pervert," she finally accused.

Shrugging carelessly, his grin just grew wider, "Maybe so," then raised the camera to snap another picture of her. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to put on the uniform?"

What on earth had gotten into him? She put the lid on her tube of lipstick and tossed it back onto the counter, "That's it." Turning to face him, hands on her hips, she demanded, "I want my camera back."

"_I _bought it," he argued like a petulant little boy.

Unmoved, "Yeah, for _me_," she countered.

He gave up trying to pout, instead curling his lips up into a wicked smirk, "If you put on your uniform, I'll give it back."

Letting out an annoyed huff, "How 'bout I just _take _it back," she made a grab for the camera, but he raised it up over her head. When she jumped up and tried to get it, he moved his arm out of her reach, so she jumped again, but he continued to evade her, dangling the camera over her head, only to pull it away when she got close to it.

Finally, she grabbed the arm holding the camera and tried to yank it down, but he hardly budged, just smirked down at her. She nearly growled in frustration, "How long are you going to keep this up?"

Waggling his eyebrows at her, "I have a beautiful woman climbing all over me; how long do you think?"

Heat rushed through her at his words. How pathetic was it that his mere acknowledgment of her being a woman had her melting at his feet. This was getting ridiculous. She was so tired of him having the upper hand, wished there was something she could do to rectify that…

Maybe there was…

Once the thought was in her head, she couldn't resist. Loosening her hold on his upraised arm, her hand traveled lower, slowly trailing over his chest, down the line of his abdomen, lingering when she felt his muscles clench beneath her fingertips, before moving even lower, down to the waistband of his pants. And he wasn't smirking anymore.

His arms dangled uselessly at his sides as she hooked her fingers in his belt loops, and he didn't resist her when she pulled his hips to hers. She lowered her voice, nearly purred, "You like it when I climb all over you?"

Eyes dark and intent on hers, he responded huskily, "Is that a trick question?"

Smiling coyly, she rose up on her tiptoes, brushed her nose against his and blew a hot breath of air across his lips. Heart pounding wildly in her chest, she let one hand creep even lower, over the jutting bone of his hip and into the dip where it met his thigh, and even farther down.

He rocked his hips into hers, just a slight move he probably wasn't even aware he'd made. Pulling back ever so slightly, she fought the urge to smirk when he swayed into her, unconsciously following her lips.

It would've been so easy just to close the gap between them, press her lips against his. He'd let her, was even waiting for her to do just that. But she was so sick of being the one always pining, so tired of waiting around for whatever crumb he decided to toss her way. Besides, according to Isaac's painting, she would get her kiss soon enough. She could wait just a little longer.

Her hand continued on its path, finally brushing against the camera in his hand, and a triumphant smile crept onto her face. She took hold of the camera, easily pulling it out of his slackened grasp, and in one fluid motion, she raised it up, pushed him away from her, and flashed a picture of his surprised expression.

He stared at her in disbelief, finally accused, "You're a _tease_."

Giving him a little smirk, she closed the distance between them again, resting her palms flat on his chest and taunting sweetly, "I learned it from _you_."

His mouth fell open at her words, but no sound came out, and knowing that she'd left him speechless was incredibly gratifying. He shook his head and looked down at her with this admiring little grin, "Touché."

She quirked her brow at him, then tossed her hair over her shoulder as she brushed past his body on her way out, reveling in the feel of his eyes on her as she sauntered away.

God, that felt good.

---

When Hiro teleported to the apartment to take her over to Isaac's, she went to the bedroom closet and retrieved the taped up bag containing her costume.

"You won't even give me a hint?" Peter gestured at the bag.

She gave him a sweet smile, "Nope."

"Hey, Hiro," he called out but kept his eyes on her, "I have a mission for you." Hiro immediately straightened up and waited for orders. "Go to the future and find out what Claire's costume is."

"Don't you dare," Claire warned, not even waiting to see if Hiro would take Peter seriously.

"Hiro," Peter's voice was authoritative, "This mission is of the utmost importance. It's crucial that I learn this information."

Hiro nodded his head solemnly, completely eating up Peter's words, but Claire grasped his arm to get his attention.

"He's lying, Hiro," she told him, "and good heroes don't follow the orders of liars, do they? You're a good hero, right?"

Hiro nodded again, this time in agreement with her.

Peter snapped his fingers in front of Hiro's face, "Focus, Hiro," and Hiro's eyes darted back over to Peter. "You're the only one capable of successfully completing this very _special_ mission."

Now he was just playing dirty. Narrowing her eyes at Peter, she addressed Hiro again, pouting and giving him wide does eyes, "Hiro, my costume's supposed to be a surprise. You wouldn't _really_ ruin the surprise…" ended miserably, "_would_ _you_?"

And Hiro melted, "No. No, I would not," then turned to Peter, "Forgive me. I must decline special mission."

Claire smirked over at Peter victoriously, "I guess you'll just have to wait until we get home tonight. That's what you get for having a bossy older brother who makes you go to snooty parties."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "Remind me to kill Nathan." They shared a smile, but then Peter sighed, reached up and caressed the curve of her cheek, "You know I'd rather be with _you_, right?"

Her heart fluttered, and it was like whatever victory she'd achieved earlier in the bathroom had never happened. How did he do that? How was it possible for him to make her so weak with just a touch, just a few measly words?

Looking up at him, she asked, a little unsure, "Really?"

Stroking the pad of his thumb along her skin, he whispered back sincerely, "Really."

When they noticed Hiro watching their exchange, she blushed lightly, and Peter cleared his throat and lowered his hand.

Claire forced a laugh, awkwardly fidgeting with the disposable camera and handles on her costume bag, before moving in closer to Hiro, "I guess we should get going."

Hiro nodded, took hold of her hand, "Two to beam up," and scrunched up his face in concentration. She caught one last glimpse of Peter's face before they disappeared.

---

Claire smoothed out the white, satiny material of her gown, then turned to the side and made sure the downy wings were secure on her back. Looking into the mirror, she primped her meticulously curled hair, and straightened the golden halo that seemingly floated above her head.

When she finally opened the door and exited Isaac's bathroom, the guys were waiting for her with big smiles on their faces. They started clapping and catcalling, and she was pretty sure it was D.L. who whistled.

She spun around, letting her skirt flutter around her legs, then struck a pose, and ended with blowing a kiss. Isaac and Ando, who were dressed exactly alike, made a big show of fighting each other to catch it.

Claire giggled and took the time to look the place over. The boys had really outdone themselves. Isaac's paintings still covered the walls, but they were depressing enough to pass as Halloween decorations. The studio floor was cleared, except for the big doomsday painting on the floor, and the only light came from strands of white lights draped from the ceiling and candles inside the jack-o-lanterns. Decorations were everywhere: cobwebs, miniature coffins, skeletons, rubber spiders and snakes. She idly wondered how much prodding it took from Hiro to get everyone to help him do this.

Speaking of Hiro, he ran up to her and proclaimed proudly, "Mirai Trunks is the greatest fighter in the world!" A little bewildered, she looked him over, realizing that somehow he'd found the costume he'd been looking for, and that, yes, Trunks did indeed where a jacket and pants and apparently, a hideous yellow wig. A spiky yellow wig. Shaking her head, she lifted her camera and took a picture.

"Gohan's better," Micah disagreed from his seat at the table, not even glancing up from the comic book he was reading.

Hiro gasped, affronted.

Micah glanced up at him, insisted, "He _is_. He was the first to reach Super Saiyan 2 _and_ the only one who could beat Cell."

"_Trunks_ is son of Vegeta," Hiro argued, boasting, "the _prince_ of Saiyans."

Micah shrugged, unimpressed, "Yeah, well, _Gohan's_ father is Goku, and _everyone_ knows Goku's the strongest one of all."

Hiro started to get worked up and lashed out, "_Gohan_ grows up to wear stupid Saiyaman costume with..." his hands jerked up to either side of his head, pointed his index fingers straight up, angrily wiggled them around.

"Antenna?" Micah supplied.

"_Stupid _antenna," Hiro shot back.

"Boys," D.L. intervened, "Take it easy."

Hiro deflated like a puppy who'd just been scolded, "Yes, sir," but as soon as D.L. turned his back, he stuck his tongue out at Micah who merely raised his eyebrow. Claire giggled.

D.L. wore a black leather trench coat, a mini fro, with a fake black mustache and muttonchops stuck to his face, and when he saw her looking at him, he explained, "I'm Shaft. Cuz I'm _smooth_." Amused, she nodded her head, and he added, "_And _I think it's kinda ironic, pretending to be someone who catches criminals, you know, since _I'm_ a wanted criminal."

Ando's eyes widened, "You are a wanted criminal?"

"Yeah," D.L. responded defensively, "But I'm innocent," to which Ando held up his hands up protectively in front of his chest, a chest dressed identically to Isaac's. They were both wearing matching black suits over white dress shirts, black neckties, shades, and flock hats.

Addressing the both of them, "What are you two supposed to be?"

They smirked at each other, pressed their shoulders together and folded their arms across their chests, gave their best aloof expressions, trying to come off as badass, and said in unison, "We're the Blues Brothers."

She giggled and took the opportunity to capture their pose on film.

A weird medley of music kept pumping through Isaac's stereo, probably to reflect the guys' differing tastes, and it wasn't long before Hiro came over to her and bowed, offering his hand in a courtly gesture, "Dance?"

He came off as being far more adorable than suave, but she smiled at him and curtsied, "I'd love to," then took his hand. He urged her to the middle of the floor, positioned her in a classic ballroom stance, then proceeded to drag her around the room in a kooky rendition of the tango.

She giggled as he clumsily dipped her, then all out laughed at the sight of Ando and Isaac dancing side by side, doing a choreographed dance of outdated moves.

Disbelieving, she called out to them, "You guys made up a dance?"

"Nope," responded Isaac as he clapped his hands simultaneously with Ando. "We learned it," they bent their knees and twisted their bodies, "from watching the movie," clapped again, "We've been practicing all week." And she about died when they both bent over, hands behind their backs, fingers wiggling, miming tail feathers. That sodid not just happen.

Everyone seemed to be having a great time, and Claire kept clicking pictures of everything. Isaac had broken out a bottle of some foul-smelling stuff he wouldn't let her near, or himself, for that matter, apparently not wanting to push his luck now that he was clean.

Hiro kept randomly teleporting up behind people, shouting "Boo!" but when he accidentally teleported onto D.L.'s lap, his drink was confiscated, "New rule: no teleporting while intoxicated."

Seeing Hiro pouting sullenly, Claire pulled him back out onto the floor and made Isaac and Ando try and teach them their little dance, but the image of Hiro shimmying and swiveling his hips, calling out, "It's boogie time," was just too much.

Micah, however, was still sitting at the table with his comic, occasionally looking up and shaking his head at one of the adults, only to lower his eyes back down to his book. Not wanting him to feel left out, Claire went up to him and asked if he would "pretty please with a cherry on top" dance with her. And when he just looked at her like she had lost it, she pouted.

"How can you resist a face like that?" Isaac asked Micah.

Ando agreed, nodding sagely, "Never turn down a pretty girl."

Micah rolled his eyes but gave in, standing up and following Claire out on the floor. Once she rested her hands on his shoulders, he hesitated before raising his hands to her waist, and she thought it was adorable how he just sort of shifted his weight back and forth.

She smiled down at him, finally noticing his costume: blue coveralls with a tool belt slung around his waist, topped with a backwards baseball cap and a nametag that read _Repairman_.

"Why'd you choose to be a repairman?" she queried.

He shrugged, "I like to fix stuff," the returned, "Why'd you choose an angel?"

Cheeks turning a little pink, she explained, "It's what Peter thought I was when I woke him from a coma."

She took his hand and ducked under his arm in an awkward spin. They turned a few more circles, and then the song was over. Bending down, she gave him a little peck on the cheek, "Thanks for dancing with me."

"Careful, little man," D.L. warned, "You're mackin' on Peter's woman," which earned a lot of chuckles.

Even Claire laughed before she corrected him, "You know, Peter and I aren't actually together."

D.L. arched his brow, "You're shittin' me," a quick glance at Micah, "I mean _kidding_. You're _kidding _me." Micah just shook his head.

"We're just…" Claire fumbled for a way to explain her relationship with Peter, "Well, I don't really know _what _we are, but we're not together."

"But that's all about to change," Isaac inserted, looking at her meaningfully, "Isn't it, Claire?"

Remembering his painting, she blushed, tried in vain to hold back a smile, "We'll see."

"It _will_," he assured, "I painted it, didn't I?"

Everyone's attention was immediately drawn to them, interest piqued, making her blush deepen.

"What exactly did you paint?" questioned Ando.

A sly look crossed Isaac's face, "Peter _kissing_ Claire," a beat, "in their Halloween costumes."

D.L. whistled, and she ducked her head, a huge grin plastered across her face.

That little speck of insecurity that never seemed to go away rose up, "But what if he doesn't really want me?"

Isaac snorted, "I don't think you have to worry about that."

Not quite so sure, she pointed out, "But every time something almost happens, he pulls away."

"How do I put this?" Isaac began, "Peter is a sickeningly noble guy," she giggled, "He's probably just concerned about your age."

That made sense, and it wasn't like she hadn't thought of it before, but "What's the big deal? I'm _legal_. Peter can do whatever he wants with me." The boys exchanged smirks at her words, and she turned beet red, "That came out wrong."

"Maybe he doesn't want to pressure you," Ando suggested. He snapped his fingers, an idea forming, then pointed at her, advising, "You should make the first move."

She knew this entire situation was comical, actually engaging in Girl Talk with this group of guys, but she'd tease them about it later. Right now, she had love advice to get, "So what should I do?"

D.L. shrugged one shoulder, "Just lay one on him."

Okay, so she wasn't hoping for something a little more intricate and foolproof. "_That's_ your grand plan? You think I should just kiss him?" she finished with an incredulous look.

She watched as the guys shared looks, nodding at each other, conferring, "That should work." "Sounds good to me."

"Look," D.L. finally addressed her, "The guy's probably holding on by a thread. This should be easy for you."

Then came the knock on the door.

Isaac rushed off to answer it, and when he came back, he wasn't alone.

Peter was with him.

Talk about your perfect timing.

He was dressed in a long black jacket with a mandarin collar that molded over his chest before billowing out around legs covered by black pants and combat boots.

"So who are you?" asked Isaac.

Peter pulled out a chic looking pair of sunglasses, put them on, and smoothed back his hair, voiced significantly, "There is no spoon."

Isaac nodded in realization, "The guy from the Matrix."

"Yep." He elaborated, "Future Hiro told me to be 'the one' you needed, and Neo is 'The One.' Get it?"

Isaac grinned, "_Nice_."

"Thanks," Peter replied, and he looked absently around the room, eyes jerking to a halt when they fell upon her. His lips parted, and though his eyes were hidden behind dark lenses, she was sure his gaze was trailing over her. Slowly, he reached up and removed his glasses, and she was right – his eyes were completely focused on her.

With him looking at her like that, it took everything in her to calm her fluttering heart and find her voice, "What are you doing here, Peter? You're supposed to be at the party with Nathan."

"I was on my way there," he explained, "and I thought I'd drop by for a minute," he shrugged, finished lamely, "you know, to see how you were doing."

She gave him an indulgent smile. Even _she_ knew, with the limited knowledge she'd gained about the city, that Isaac's was not even close to being on the way to that party.

The others were all watching them, and she had this crazy mental image of Hiro stopping time to pop a bag of popcorn. She smiled over at Peter, "Do you want to get some air?"

While the request was hardly smooth, Peter didn't seem to mind, actually looked a little relieved by it. "Sure."

As she and Peter made their way over to the door, she looked back over her shoulder to see Isaac wink at her and Hiro giving her a big smile with two thumbs up.

---

The cool night air was refreshing after dancing around inside for so long. Peter closed the door behind them, and said, "I can't stay long, or Nathan will have my head. I'm already late."

She laughed a little before giving him a questioning look, "Then why did you come?"

Grinning down at her, he said simply, "I wanted to see you in your costume."

She didn't point out that he would've seen it in a few hours anyway, just let him off the hook. Smiling, she twirled around, her dress nearly glowing in the moonlight. "What do you think?"

For a while he just looked at her, eyes intent, so full of awe, finally trailing up to meet her gaze, "You're beautiful, Claire," and though he'd said as much to her before, this time was different. The words weren't teasing or playful, and she didn't have to drag them out of him.

His expression was so intense, and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to withstand those looks he gave her. Averting her eyes, "Thanks, I got it for you," nervously, "Well, not _for_ you, obviously. You'd look pretty ridiculous wearing this. But," a slight blush as she tried to look him in the eye, "I had you in mind."

Peter reached out and fingered one of the feathers on her wings, "Angel. It's what I called you when I first woke up."

She smiled softly, "You remember?"

His fingers moved to stroke through her hair, his eyes following the motion as he breathed reverently, "I remember _everything_."

And she didn't know what to make of this knew Peter, didn't understand these new rules at all. So she resorted to the old ones, "Careful, Peter," she chided playfully, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been pining for me."

He didn't say anything, just gave her a fond smile, so she tried again, teasing, "But don't feel bad. You're not the only one who wants me."

At her words, his eyes automatically darted to Isaac's door, queried, "No?" with just a little too much care, and she wondered if, even now, after hearing all her thoughts, he was still a little jealous.

She smiled to herself and hoped her next joke wouldn't upset him, "I think the _other _you is pining for me, too," hoped it wasn't too soon to tease him about channeling Jessica.

He grinned down at her, all traces of jealousy gone, "Is that right? Should I let him out so you two can talk it over?"

A wicked smile tore across her face, "You can let him out, but I don't think we'll do much _talking_." Laughing, he shook his head, and she added defensively, "He's a good kisser."

"Speaking of kisses," Peter began, letting his fingers toy with her hair again, caressing the soft strands between thumb and forefinger, "You still owe me one."

Smiling, she lowered her chin and looked up at him demurely, "I do, don't I?"

"Yep, and if you don't pay up soon," he threatened, "I'm going to start charging interest."

She grinned, "Well, we can't have that."

"Nope," he shook his head, "It's bad for your credit." His joke made her giggle, especially since he'd said it so seriously.

When her giggles stopped, she was suddenly all too aware of the heat between them, his hand buried in her hair, body so very close to hers. This was it; she had her opening. Her heart sped up as she stared at his chest, gathering her nerve; her voice was quiet, fragile, "I guess..." she took in a deep breath and forced her eyes up to his, then laid it out there, "I should probably give you your kiss."

Peter gazed down at her intently; voice low, he murmured, "I guess you should."

Her heart flipped. He wanted this.

Exhaling shakily, she took a timid step forward, and his hands landed on her hips, guiding her to him. Her blood raced through her veins as she put her hands on his chest, amazed that this was actually happening. Her hands trembled as they smoothed up to his shoulders, around to the back of his neck, where she applied just a hint of pressure, gently urging him to lean in closer.

One of his hands slid to the small of her back, coaxing her body the rest of the way to his, her breasts pressing against the firmness of his chest, and his other hand rose to the nape of her neck, cradling it as his lips neared hers, such slow, exquisite torture. His head lowered, so close she could feel his breath on her face, and his hair fell out from behind his ear and brushed against her cheek. She closed her eyes; let her lips part…

And the incessant beeping began.

"_Dammit_," Peter cursed, reaching down and pulling out his cell phone, bringing it up to his ear and barking into it, demanding, "_What?_"

Claire giggled and rested her face against his chest, letting the tension from their broken moment drain away. This was so typical, almost like the universe was conspiring against her.

Peter sighed, "Look, I'll be there in a bit," then hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket.

Snuggling further into his chest, she asked, "Was that Nathan?" Peter's brother could be relentless at times, and though earlier Peter had said to remind him to kill Nathan, she just might just have to kill him herself.

"No, it was Simone."

She stiffened in his arms. His words were like a punch to the gut, making it hard for her to breath. She pushed away from him, felt her heart clench when he didn't stop her, and did her best to mask her hurt as she gazed up at him.

But her best wasn't very good because she could feel the tears prickling behind her eyes, and it wasn't long before Peter noticed them and whispered, "Claire…"

She waved a hand negligently, "Don't worry about it, Peter," forced a smile, tried to keep her tone careless, "We were just goofing around."

He cupped her cheek, his voice firm, "_No_," but she didn't want to hear it, didn't want the gentle let down.

Turning her head away from his touch, "You better go, Peter. _Simone's_ waiting for you."

He looked like he was about to say something, but his phone started ringing again. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, but didn't answer, just let it ring. "What time are you getting home?"

"Why?" she mocked, "You wanna give me a curfew?"

"No," paid no heed to her scornful tone, "I want you to meet me there. I'll leave the party early, and we'll celebrate, just the two of us."

His phone kept on ringing, and she couldn't seem to tear her focus off it. Simone had just called him – Simone, who would be at the party, the party he was leaving her to go to…

At her reluctance, he ducked his head and caught her gaze, "Please?"

And she didn't think she could refuse him anything. She sighed, giving in, "What time?"

Smiling in relief, he suggested, "How 'bout eleven?"

"Okay," she shrugged indifferently, "Eleven it is."

"You'll be there?" He looked so hopeful, and she didn't know how to reconcile this Peter, _her _Peter, with the one who answered calls from Simone, didn't understand how they could be the same person at all.

But maybe she'd gotten it wrong, somehow. Was it such a stretch that Simone was just attending the same party?

And it wasn't like Peter would ever toy with her, especially now that he'd heard the way she felt about him. He wouldn't do that to her. The insecurity faded in the wake of that warm look on his face, and she smiled slightly, nodded, "I'll be there."

His hand reached out to grasp hers, "You promise?"

She gave an exasperated laugh, "I promise."

Bringing her hand up to his lips, he held her gaze as he pressed a tender kiss to her palm. "I'll see you then."

---

When she went back inside, Isaac, Ando, and D.L. were waiting expectantly while Micah and Hiro were off pouring over a stack of comics that hadn't been there before she went outside.

"So?" Isaac waggled his brows, "How was it?"

A slight blush crept into her cheeks, "How was _what_?" she returned innocently.

Isaac's eyes narrowed, "You know _exactly_ what."

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders, "Nothing happened." At their doubtful looks, she insisted, "I'm serious."

"But I painted it," and it was almost cute how lost Isaac seemed, but it wasn't like she understood any better than he did. She'd seen the painting, and in it, she and Peter were standing together, wrapped in each other's arms, lips…

Closing her eyes, she nearly groaned, "Our lips weren't touching," at Isaac's confused look, she elaborated, "In the painting, they didn't quite touch." She smiled ruefully, "I guess your painting came true, after all."

Isaac shook his head in disbelief, "Are you telling me that you were _that _close, but he didn't go through with it."

She huffed, "We were interrupted," and she almost mentioned who had interrupted them, but one look at Isaac made her keep her mouth shut.

Isaac gave her an incredulous look, Ando shook his head from side to side in disappointment, and D.L. asked no one in particular, "When's that boy going to grow a pair?"

---

When the clock neared eleven, she started telling everyone bye, and asked if Hiro could take her home to meet Peter.

Hearing that Peter had asked her to come home and be with him, Isaac smirked, "A late night meeting? Scandalous."

She slapped his arm to cover for her embarrassment, but that just encouraged him. Turning to Ando, Isaac cocked his hip, twirled his hair around a finger, and said, voice high-pitched and effeminate, "Oh _Peter_, you smell _so_ good. Let me steal your wallet so I can grope that cute butt of yours."

Ando picked up on the game and took up the role of Peter, "I am injured," tossed nonexistent bangs out of his face, "_again_. Lucky for me, I have my own personal doctor who happens to be hot."

Isaac laid his hand daintily on Ando's shoulder, "_Peter_, let me kiss it and make it better," and Claire cracked up laughing when they started making kissy faces at each other.

Smacking them both on the chest, "You guys suck."

"Huh," Isaac looked over at Ando, "I thought our impressions were pretty good."

"You better watch it," she warned Isaac, "Hiro's not going to be too happy that you're trying to steal Ando from him." Hiro looked suspiciously at Isaac, who raised his hands in front of his chest and back away from Ando, making everyone laugh.

"Go get him, kid," D.L. told her, "And if he gets too fresh, tell him I'll kick his ass."

Claire smiled at the offer, "Thanks, but he'd actually have to touch me before I'd need to worry about that."

Micah just gave her a little smile and a wave.

And then she and Hiro were back in Peter's apartment. He faced her, told her solemnly, "Time to give Sleeping Beauty his kiss," and she nodded her head, holding back her giggles until he'd disappeared.

A quick sweep of the apartment told her Peter hadn't made it, yet, so she sat down on the couch and waited – for all of ten seconds before dashing back to the bathroom to touch up her makeup.

Hurriedly, she dabbed her face with powder and applied another coat of mascara. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her toothbrush and grabbed it, quickly squeezing some toothpaste onto it and furiously brushed her teeth.

After rinsing her mouth, she straightened to look in the mirror. Fluffing her hair, she decided she didn't have enough time for her curling iron to heat up, so she just smoothed down a few stray strands. Turning from side to side, she looked herself over, finally flashed her reflection a smile and gave a little nod in satisfaction.

She made her way back to the living room and sat down on the couch to wait. The seconds on the clock ticked by, eventually turning to minutes, and she turned on the television to distract her from the wait, then turned it off shortly after, feeling too jittery to pay any attention to it.

She fought the urge to slump back against the couch, not wanting to mess up her wings, and wondered what was taking him so long. He was already over thirty minutes late. Maybe he was just having a hard time getting away, which was completely believable considering who his brother was. Surely, he'd be here soon.

The wait grew longer, and she absently picked little balls of lint off the couch. Suddenly, she rose to her feet, remembering, "His cell phone," but deflated almost immediately. She didn't know the number.

But maybe it was written down somewhere. There was a little address book on the inn table by the phone, and she started thumbing through it. As each page turned with no results, she could feel her stomach tightening with worry. What if something had happened to him?

Shoving a frustrated hand through her hair, feeling the fear clenching around her heart, she looked around the room desperately. Oh, God. What if he needed her?

She grabbed the book again. Nathan. Peter had been at the party with Nathan, so surely his brother would know something. And there it was: an entry for Nathan Petrelli's personal cell.

Nearly frantic, she punched the buttons on the phone and waited impatiently for the ringing to stop and Nathan to answer.

"_Hello?"_

"Nathan?" didn't even wait for him to confirm, "This is Claire. Do you know where Peter is? Because he was supposed to be home by now, and I'm really starting to get worried."

"_I just saw him leave with Simone not too long ago,"_ and her throat constricted, making it impossible to breathe. The whole room was closing in on her, those awful words echoing in her ears. She stared at the phone, hurt and confused, didn't bother to say anything as she placed it back on the hook.

For a while, she just sat on the couch, shoulders slumped, looking helplessly around the room. Finally, she rose shakily to her feet and wandered off to the bedroom in a daze, didn't even bother to turn on the light. Crawling onto the bed, she curled up on her side, ignored the damage being done to her feathered wings.

So many thoughts and feelings rushed through her, memories of all the things he'd ever said to her, treasured words she'd hoarded up inside her heart…

His determination to protect her that was there right from the beginning…

"_I don't have all the answers. But I promise you, if you come with me, I'll do everything in my power to protect you."_

Playful banter, those flirtatious remarks…

"_Let me know when it's time for me to shave your legs."_

A suggestive eyebrow and that crooked grin…

"_If you keep prancing around here wearing nothing but my shirts, I'll play however long you want me to."_

Reassuring words, a warm, comforting embrace…

"_I can think of worse things than having a lap full of beautiful girl."_

Smoldering touches, heated kisses pressed to her skin…

"_Don't worry, I'll be very thorough."_

And a gentle confession whispered into her hair…

"_No matter how hard I try, I can't get you out of my head, either."_

Her throat burned and tears filled her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. She trembled, sucked in harsh breaths as she desperately fought against the urge to cry, but the tears were falling, her pillow was damp, and she just wasn't strong enough to handle this.

She dug her fingers into her pillow and clutched it to her, and like a small child, curled even further into herself, completely breaking apart. Her gut wrenching cries flooded the darkened room as her body wracked with sobs, and she'd never known anything could hurt this bad.


	18. Knife to the Gut

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation. AU after Fallout.

**A/N: **Spoiler Warning: To all of you who've seen Episode 1x14: Distractions, this little fic is going to disregard the revealing of a certain bio-daddy. This story is an AU fic in which Peter and Claire are not related by any means, but if you're still squicked by it, I'll understand if you stop reading. However, please don't bother with flames or any reviews telling me how icky this story is now. It's all in fun.

**Chapter Eighteen: Knife to the Gut**

Claire groaned, opening her eyes and peering around blearily. The sunlight streamed in through the window, playing across her skin as she sat up and looked around the room. It was morning. And she hadn't seen Peter at all last night.

Slowly, she rose from the bed and sucked in a deep breath before making her way to the living room. She didn't know what to expect, had to be prepared for the sight of an empty couch. Her heart constricted at what that would mean. If he hadn't slept here, he must've slept somewhere else…

But there he was, stretched out on his back, one arm flung haphazardly over the side of the couch.

And she wasn't sure how to feel about him being there: a little bit relieved that he wasn't still with Simone, betrayed that he'd left with her in the first place, and infuriated that he was lying there, dozing peacefully when she'd cried her heart out over him just a few hours ago.

So many emotions, so many suspicions dancing through her mind, and the only thing she could get a firm hold on was that she didn't want to be here when he woke up. It hurt just to look at him, and she knew it would hurt a thousand times worse if she waited around to hear him fumble through an explanation as to why he'd left with Simone.

She tiptoed around the couch, over to the address book, and picked up the phone once she found the number she wanted.

"_Moshi Moshi,"_ came through from the other end.

"Hiro? It's Claire. I need you to come get me."

---

When Hiro had teleported to pick her up, she'd quickly shushed him, changed into fresh clothes, and told him to take her away from there. He didn't put up any resistance, understanding that she was upset about something, and did as she asked.

Claire was curled up on Isaac's couch, staring blankly at the television. She could hear D.L. snoring like a buzz saw from the other room and Micah clacking away on a laptop, and she was fairly sure that Isaac was off painting in his little cubicle. Hiro and Ando kept darting concerned looks her way, but the only information they could get out of her was that Peter had stood her up.

When Isaac's phone rang, Ando got up to answer it. He came back a moment later to tell her that Peter called, frantic from not knowing where she was, and she replied bitterly, "Now he knows how_ I_ felt."

She expected Peter to come charging over any moment, scolding her for leaving without telling him first, but he didn't come, so she kept her unfocused gaze on the screen, let the images flash across her retinas without remembering a single one.

---

Something soft and fuzzy danced in front of her face, and her eyes widened when she realized it was one of her 'around the world' bears.

"For you," Hiro explained, and gingerly, she reached up and took the stuffed bear out of his hands. He must've teleported to her old house and gotten it for her, probably hoping it would make her feel better.

She fingered one of its little ears, amazed at how familiar it was, how foreign. It had only been a matter of weeks since she'd been in her room surrounded by these things, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, seeing this bear, she suddenly felt very homesick. She'd been fine before, being with Peter more than tempered those feelings, but now…

Hiro was still standing in front of her, looking down at her hopefully, and she forced herself to smile back at him, touched that he cared enough to do this for her, "Thanks."

He gave her a wide smile, held up a single finger in front of her, signaling for her to wait a minute, then scurried back a few steps to stand beside Ando, who was holding a piece of paper in his hands, looking like a man being marched to the gallows.

Hiro stood before her proudly, feet shoulder width apart, fists on his hips, "Mission: Cheer up Cheerleader Claire."

Ando rolled his eyes and held the piece of paper up to where Hiro could see it, said flatly, "C." Hiro's arm shot up, curving above his head, the other curling up at his side to form the letter 'C.'

Claire's eyebrows rose in surprise, and Ando let out a sigh, shook his head in embarrassment, "L." Hiro looked down at the paper, then extended one arm straight up and the other straight out.

"A," elbows bent, the tips of his fingers met above his head. Ando covered his face with his hand on, "I," and when he called out for Hiro to form an "R," Claire giggled, watched as Hiro frowned and scratched his head. She could practically see the light bulb go on when he smiled in triumph, his arm curving around to his hip, supporting his weight on his right leg as the left moved out to the side.

When they didn't form any more letters, she smiled and told them there was an 'E' on the end, and Hiro gave Ando an expectant look. Ando rolled his eyes and exhaled a long audible breath before conceding, pulling out a pen to show Hiro what the letter looked like.

Hiro nodded and turned to the side and stuck his arms out, one over the other, then kicked his leg out in front of him, smiled his victory, "E!"

Even though she didn't feel much better, these two had tried so hard, and she couldn't help getting up to give Hiro a big hug. When she made a move toward Ando, he raised his arms in front of his chest, told her that it was all Hiro's idea, that Hiro thought the best way to cheer up a cheerleader was with a cheer. Claire grinned, threw her arms around him anyway, and told him she thought he was really just a big softie, and he just patted her awkwardly on the back.

"How come no one told me Claire was handing out hugs?"

They all turned to see Isaac coming out of his little painting area.

"I'm _not_ handing them out," Claire said, grinning up at Hiro and Ando, "They _earned _them."

Isaac raised a brow but didn't comment, instead asked, "What are you doing here, anyway? I figured you'd be off Honeymooning by now." Claire's expression clouded over as her gaze dropped to the floor, and there was an awkward silence before Isaac let the subject drop, "Well, I'm glad you're here. I just painted something you should probably see."

She gave him a curious look before following him to his painting nook where a freshly painted canvas sat on the easel, and the only reaction she had was a vacant stare.

"Are you okay?" Isaac asked.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the painting. It was a portrait of her on a sandy background with her arm held up in front of her, hand missing, wrist a bloody stub.

When she said, "I'll heal," he responded that he was sure she would, but his tone wasn't convincing, and she couldn't help but share his doubts. How could her hand heal if she didn't even _have_ a hand?

After a few minutes of staring at the painting, Isaac turned to her, "So," he began, "Do you want to tell me what happened with you and Peter?"

Isaac was probably the last person she should tell. It seemed like he and Simone had a bad breakup, and she didn't want to hurt him further by telling him her suspicions about his ex-girlfriend and Peter.

Seeing her reluctance, "Claire, you can talk to me," his expression so warm and caring.

She almost didn't tell him, but then she was tired of holding it in, tired of dealing with the hurt by herself. Besides, he had a right to know. "Peter never met me last night," she told him, voice grim, then she dropped the bomb, "He left the party… with _Simone_."

Isaac's jaw clenched, and she briefly wondered if she'd made the wrong decision in telling him. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything," he replied, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as her, "There are hundreds of reasons he could've left with her that have nothing to do with…" left the rest to hang in their air, unspoken.

Claire didn't argue with him, just nodded. "On the bright side, you know all those paintings of Hiro making letters? They came true."

Hint of a grin on his lips, "You're kidding me."

"Nope," she shook her head, "He and Ando have taken up cheerleading."

He arched his brow, "Give D.L. some pom-poms and you'll have a whole new squad."

She laughed, "Maybe I can get Micah to be our mascot."

---

For the rest of the morning, she'd tried to keep busy, anything to take her mind off the aching in her chest, and when lunchtime came, she'd welcomed the distraction of helping to prepare it.

They'd decided on BLTs, and Claire was vaguely surprised that a refrigerator stocked by a bunch of guys would even have things like lettuce and tomatoes. She took charge of cutting up the vegetables while Ando took on bacon duty, and she giggled when Hiro tried to tie a little apron around Ando's waist, and Ando pushed him away, scowling and brandishing the spatula like a weapon.

She was doing fine. Really. Everything was just peachy. With a side of keen. And she might've been able to convince herself of that if Simone hadn't showed up.

Claire tried to keep her attention focused on the tomato, but her traitorous eyes kept glancing up to glare daggers into the woman's back. She slid the knife into the tomato forcefully. Simone just _had _to come by for Isaac's paintings today, the worst day possible for her to show her face.

"Claire!"

Her eyes snapped over to D.L. who was staring at the counter in horror, and she look down to see blood trickling from a cut on her finger. She'd nearly sliced her finger off and hadn't even noticed. Maybe that's how she'd lose her hand. She'd be so busy dreaming up morbid, vindictive ways of killing off Simone that she'd accidentally chop the whole thing off.

She huffed, grabbed a towel and wiped up the blood, then threw the sullied tomato away. The guys, minus Isaac who was off sifting through paintings with Simone, were all staring at her with varying expressions ranging from amazement to concern.

"I'm fine," she insisted, holding up her hand so they could see her finger.

"Does it always work like that?" D.L. gestured at her hand, "You just heal from anything?"

Claire shrugged, "So far."

"Does it hurt?" Ando asked.

Claire was taken back to that first morning with Peter, when she'd removed the tray from the oven with her bare hands, his awed look as he caressed her unblemished hands. And those kinds of thoughts were definitely not good ones to dwell on, especially with Simone so close by – the knife might find its way into something other than her own finger.

"Not really," Claire echoed her reply from so long ago. "I didn't even feel it." They already knew what her special ability was, so why were they acting so surprised? She supposed that the only demonstration of it they'd ever seen had been when Peter absorbed it after rescuing Niki.

"_Cool_," Micah's eyes were still focused on her finger.

Claire smiled over at him fondly, "That's _nothing_."

Pulling her shirt up to reveal her midriff, she poised the tip of the knife against her stomach, smirked pointedly at each of them, and thrust the blade in. It stung, but their reactions were worth it: scattered gasps, winces, and Ando's dropped jaw. D.L. gave a low whistle, "_Damn_," as Hiro rubbed his tummy, "Owie."

Claire grinned, eased the knife out of her stomach, tissues immediately knitting themselves back together. A little blood had oozed from the wound, but it had collated before it could do much damage to her clothes.

"Do you think it's good idea to do that in front of Micah?" came Simone's voice. She shifted the canvases in her arms and elaborated, "It's just… it's a little inappropriate for a boy his age to see something like that, don't you think?"

Micah shrugged one shoulder, "I watched _Saw_, and I turned out okay."

Simone gave him an indulgent smile before turning to Claire, "Did you use one of the kitchen knives?"

Claire looked down at the bloodied knife in her hand, sudden shame welling up within her. She _had _used one of the kitchen knives. She'd been so caught up in the attention, wanting to impress the others with her powers that she hadn't given any thought to the fact that no one would want to use a utensil after it had been immersed in her guts.

"Never mind," Simone waved her hand, then pulled something out of her coat pocket, "Here," she placed a cell phone on the counter in front of Claire, "Peter left this with me last night," Claire's eyes flitted up to that soft smile on Simone's face, "Would you mind giving it back to him? I know I'll see him at Nathan's event tomorrow night, but he might need it before then."

She nodded dumbly, whatever hope Isaac's earlier words had given her fleeing upon hearing Simone's words.

So this was what a knife to the gut felt like to normal people.


	19. Need a Hand?

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13, T  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation. AU after Fallout.

**A/N: **Don't forget to read **Chapter Eighteen** first. I posted it right before this one. And I've taken some liberties with a few powers but nothing too extreme. Keep in mind that this fic goes AU after Fallout so what happens in Distractions has no bearing here.

**Chapter Nineteen: Need a Hand?**

It wasn't long after Simone left with Isaac's paintings that Peter came over. He made his way over to the place Claire had claimed on the couch, "Can I sit?" She shrugged her shoulder, so he sat down beside her, "I would've come sooner, but Matt and Audrey called." He just sat there, eyes fixed on the floor, before finally meeting her gaze, his expression soft, "I'm sorry, Claire."

Her heart constricted. Reaching over, he took her hand in his, brushed his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. She pulled her hand away, and he sighed, "I get that you're mad at me, but if you would just listen…"

She didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear anything he had to say. "Here," she tossed the phone Simone had given her over into his lap, "Simone asked me to return this to you."

Carefully, he asked, "You talked to Simone?" at her nod, "What did she tell you?"

She tried so hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, "Enough."

Peter scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I wanted to be the one to tell you," and any doubts she might've had about him choosing Simone over her flew out the window. "Look," he began, "Matt and Audrey think they've finally found Ted, and I'm supposed to meet them to help bring him in, but once I'm back," a meaningful glance, "I think we should talk about this."

She nodded, but in all honestly, didn't know if she could handle such a talk, not if it involved him telling her why he wanted to be with Simone instead of her.

---

Matt and Audrey had been following a lead on Ted's whereabouts that had finally paid off; he was holed up in some shack in the desert, and they were standing by to take him into custody, waiting on their 'superhero' reinforcements to help them deal with Ted's abilities.

"There's an explosion coming," Peter addressed the whole group at Isaac's, "and all signs point to this guy's powers being the cause," he paused, looked around at each of them individually, "I don't know what to expect from this guy. He could listen to us, cooperate, or he might put up a fight," scattered nods of understanding, "_I'm _the one who's supposed to explode. This is _my _fight, but I'd be grateful to anyone willing to help."

Any other day, she would've been so proud to see him like this, stepping up, taking charge. She would've looked at him with adoring eyes and swooned anytime his intense gaze just happened to fall on her. But all she could feel now was frustration, anger, bitterness, and a hollow ache she didn't think would ever go away.

"Can I ask a question?" Micah spoke up, and everyone turned to look him, "If you absorb this guy's powers, you could explode, right?" Peter nodded, expression grave, and Micah continued, "So shouldn't you stay away from him?"

"The kid has a point, Peter," Isaac said, "Maybe you shouldn't be the one to go after Ted."

"I _have _to," Peter insisted, "Besides, the explosion's supposed to happen in New York."

"But what's to say it can't just as easily happen out there?" Isaac countered.

"If _I _don't go, then _who's _going to stop him?" Peter shot back.

The image of Isaac's painting flashed before her mind: the _sandy_ background, Ted's location just _happening _to have a convenient abundance of the stuff.

"Me."

The word was out of her mouth before she had time to think it over, to remember what else the painting had foretold, but once it was out there, she was determined to back it up.

The others turned to her with surprised expressions, and Peter shook his head adamantly, "_No_. We have to protect _you_ at all costs."

And Claire had this irrational, _awful_ thought that his interest in her was never more than the role she would play in saving the world. "For all you know, this could be the reason I needed protecting, so I could live long enough to do _this_." Peter started to protest, but she cut him off, "Whatever you're about to say doesn't matter. Isaac painted it, and I'm going."

"Then I'm going with you," was Peter's fierce response.

She shook her head, "We've been over this. It's not safe for you to go."

Peter's jaw clenched, and he stared her down, eyes boring into hers, "There's no way I'm letting you go alone."

Hiro stood up, "I go. Fulfill my destiny," laid a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder, "protect Cheerleader Claire."

"What the hell," D.L. shrugged, "Count me in, too."

"Me, too," added Isaac, and Peter glared over at him.

But Claire shook her head, "No," gestured at herself, Hiro, and D.L., "We'll be able to protect ourselves."

Peter drew in a harsh, angry breath, his hands convulsively fisting at his sides, "I don't like this."

Claire gave an unfeeling shrug, "It doesn't matter if you like it. This is the way it is."

The look he gave her was pained, nearly desperate, so very pleading, "_Claire_,"

But she wouldn't let herself be moved, "I don't need you to save me anymore, Peter."

He looked so hurt by her words, and she immediately wanted to take them back, tell him she didn't mean them at all, but the memory of all those tears she'd shed over him, all the pain he'd caused her made her keep her mouth shut, lift her chin defiantly.

His expression hardened, "Fine."

---

Matt had tried to reason with Ted, tried to explain the situation they were in, everything about the impending explosion, and Audrey told Ted he was a danger to himself and others, but all he seemed to understand was that they wanted to take him into custody. He'd tried to make a run for it when Audrey pulled her gun on him, and it all went to hell from there. In defense, Ted had hurled some sort of glowing ball at Audrey, and Matt dove, pushing her out of the way, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Hiro had tried stopping time, going straight up to a frozen Ted and cuffing him, but as soon as time started back up, the cuffs had melted off.

They now had Ted surrounded, and he kept throwing those fiery little orbs at them, only for Hiro to teleport the intended target out of harm's way, the orbs exploding when they impacted the ground, sand erupting into the air.

---

Niki and Mohinder came through Isaac's door, suitcases in tow, and Niki immediately sought out her son. Peter, Isaac, and Mohinder watched as she hugged Micah to her chest, "You don't have to be afraid anymore. _I _control _her_, now.

She held him close, so grateful she could be with him again, relieved he was finally back in her arms, then pulled back so she could see him, a questioning look on her face, "Where's your dad?"

---

"This is getting old," D.L. voiced, then made a run for Ted whose extended hand was already firing a ball of energy directly at D.L.'s chest. Claire screamed a warning when D.L. didn't move out of the way, held her breath as it connected with his chest – and phased harmlessly through his body, and he kept advancing, shoving his hand into Ted's chest.

Ted's face contorted with pain, gasping, struggling for air, and his eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched, knuckles turning white, his body radiating heat. D.L. hissed, finally cried out and jerked his hand away, falling to his knees.

Ted stumbled back a few steps before raising his palm out, and Claire rushed forward, shielding D.L.'s body with hers. She'd heal. If the blast hit her, she'd survive. God, she hoped her healing was up for this.

Ted's hand started to glow, strange beeping in the background – a cell phone? – energy swirling around his palm, and she braced herself for the blow…

…that never came.

A hand came out of nowhere, grabbed Ted by the back of his shirt and hurled him through the air.

"Hey girly," Niki tossed over her shoulder, flashed a wicked little smirk, "Need a hand?"

Not Niki.

Scrambling back to his feet, Ted's hands flung out to defend himself, and _Jessica_ stepped in front of Claire, arms spread wide, tall, imposing, blonde hair thrashing in the wind, the very picture of the fierce, avenging goddess.

Hiro stood not far away, having just teleported Jessica there to help them, and his eyes narrowed at Ted, "It's clobberin' time."

---

Peter slammed Isaac up against the wall, "How could you let her go?" gestured wildly at the painting of Claire's missing hand, "_Knowing_ what would happen?" He fisted his hands into the collar of Isaac's shirt, clenched his jaw and glared menacingly, "If _anything_ happens to her…"

He let the words hang in the air, as if they were too awful to say aloud.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of another painting, one that's meaning he couldn't fathom until now.

The man flying over the desert…

---

Claire huddled beside D.L., his arm covered in blisters from being inside Ted's radioactive body. Matt and Audrey were kneeling beside her, watching the fight with wide, amazed eyes.

But Jessica and Ted seemed to be at a stalemate. Her knuckles were raw and bloody, angry burns bubbling up on her skin, and Ted breathed laboriously, a gash cut across his forehead, bruises already forming.

She'd deliver a punch, send Ted up into the air or skidding across the sand, and Ted would retaliate by hurling an energy bomb at her, then Hiro would teleport her out of the way before the sphere could connect.

Jessica had tried wrestling Ted to the ground, using her strength to pin him down, but her hands started sizzling, forcing her to release him. The only thing she could do was either wait for him to tire or knock him out, and she couldn't stay close enough to him for her punches to have any measure of accuracy.

Ted charged up his hand, aimed it at Jessica, but Hiro was already teleporting her to safety.

…But Ted's hand was still glowing.

Claire watched as he circled around, hand outstretched, ready to blast Hiro and Jessica the moment they reappeared. She saw them blink back into existence, saw Ted's hand raise, the glow intensifying as he prepared to release it at the unsuspecting duo, and she charged him, didn't give it a thought, just ran at him, reached out her hand and covered his, a desperate attempt at saving her friends.

And the radioactive orb detonated.

---

"Nathan!" Peter yelled as soon as his brother answered the phone, "I need your help."

"_Whatever you need is going to have to wait 'til I get back from Vegas,"_ Nathan told him, then offered an explanation as to his whereabouts, _"When Linderman beckons, right?"_

"You're in Vegas?" didn't wait for confirmation, "That's _perfect_!"

"_I wasn't aware you were such a fan of gambling and hookers."_

"No," Peter waved his hand dismissively, "Claire's not far from there. I need you to go and save her."

"_You're the one in the hero business, not me," _Nathan replied.

"Nathan," pleadingly, "You're my brother, right? If you care about me at all, you'll do this for me," he was starting to get desperate, "_Please_. I can't… _dammit_," shoved a hand through his hair, "I can't lose her. I _can't_."

Nathan sighed, _"Okay."_

"You're going to have to fly," Peter warned.

"_Just tell me where to find her." _Peter rattled off the address Audrey had given him, and there was silence on the other end, then, _"Just how the hell am I supposed to find the place?"_

Peter looked around the room, desperately searching for some means of getting Nathan to Claire.

Concerned, Mohinder questioned, "What is the matter?"

"I have to give Nathan directions to Claire," Peter responded, looked at Mohinder beseechingly, as if his mind held all the world's answers. But Mohinder was at a loss; his eyes darted around, trying to come up with a solution…

It was Micah who asked them, "What kind of cell phone does he have?"

---

Claire screamed as the energy exploded around her hand, _through _her hand, and when the light faded, she stared in horror at the vacant air where her hand should be.

"Oh, God," Ted whispered.

Blood gushed out of her arm, and she could do nothing but stand there in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

He took a slow step toward her, face ridden with guilt, "I didn't mean to…"

The bleeding trickled to a stop.

Her flesh stretched over the wound, rippled, bulged, grew into a shapeless mass of tissue that slowly took form. Claire worked the newly sprouted appendages, experimentally made a fist. Then she looked up at Ted, who was gaping at her regenerated hand, and she narrowed her eyes, hauled back and knocked the living daylights out of him, "That _hurt_."

When Ted tumbled to the ground, Claire rubbed her knuckles in satisfaction, but then noticed the dart lodged in the back of his neck, and she whipped around to see where it had come from.

A new vehicle was parked beside Ted's little shack, and the memory erasing man stood next to it, holding up a dart gun, and beside him stood her dad, _clapping_.

"Good work Claire-Bear," he grinned, "You always did have a nice right hook."

---

Micah sat in front of his laptop, "I can locate your brother with the GPS system in his phone," typed a sequence of keys until a window asking for a password popped up.

"Nathan," Peter said into the phone, "Do you know of any password?"

Micah grinned, touched his finger to the screen, "We don't _need_ a password." Everyone watched in amazement as the contents on the screen changed, eventually settled on a map with a tiny blinking light, "That's your brother," pointed at another spot on the screen, "and this is where Claire is. Tell him to head west."

Peter did as he was told, then looked back over at Micah, "Nathan asked how he's supposed to know which way west is."

Micah rolled his eyes, held out his hand for the phone, and once it was handed to him, lifted it to his ear, "West is where the sun is setting. Head that way, and I'll direct you from there."

---

"How did you find me?" Claire asked.

Her dad scoffed, "Did you really think I wouldn't keep tabs on you? You're my baby girl."

She scoffed, "You tried to have my memories erased."

He tried to appease her, "That was for your protection. I wanted you to have a happy, _normal_ life."

Claire shook her head, "I'm not going back."

"_Yes_, you are. My associate," a glance at the Haitian, "thought it best for you to keep your memories, that you were somehow crucial to stopping the explosion," gestured at the unconscious Ted, "which you've done. We'll take _him_ back to Primatech where we can suppress his abilities so he's no longer a threat. Now come on, Claire. It's time to go home to your family. They miss you very much."

She let out a mirthless chuckle, "You mean they actually _remember_ me?" He just gave her an indulgent smile, took a few steps in her direction. "You can't make me go," Claire insisted, but her dad just kept coming closer, and she was getting desperate, "Hiro, get us out of here." Hiro scrunched up his face, tried to teleport, but nothing happened.

The Haitian was staring intently at Hiro, and her dad nodded his approval before turning back to her, "You're coming home, and that's final."

As he drew even closer, the only thing Claire could see was Peter's face. When Hiro had brought her the bear, she'd missed her family, wondered if things would be easier to go home and have her pain erased, but now that she was given the chance, even though she was hurting, _aching_, she didn't want to forget him.

She turned, broke into a run…

…and then she was swept into the air.

The figures on the ground grew smaller, and she turned her gaze up to the man who had her cradled in his arms, "Nathan?"

"Hope you're not afraid of heights," he said in response, "If you throw up, I'm dropping you."

She shrugged, "I'll live," then her eyes widened, "Wait! We have to go back for the others."

"No can do," he replied, "This ride only has enough room for one passenger."

Giggling, "That sounds kind of kinky."

He arched his brow at her, gave her a shrewd look, "Is that how you sucked my brother in?"

"Huh?" honest bewilderment.

A snort, "Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about," when the blank look didn't leave her face, he rolled his eyes, "Peter's little… _crush_?" bit out the word as if it were something foul.

"I was worried there for a while," he told her, "but after last night…" a pang in her heart at his reference to Peter leaving with Simone, "All I can say is that I'm glad he's gotten over it."

Over it. Over _her_, was what he was really saying, as if she were just some phase Peter had went through.

Seeing her pained expression, Nathan backtracked, "Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he cares about you," didn't make her feel better at all. He sighed, "Surely you didn't think…" stopped, tried a new tactic, "Don't you want a nice boyfriend your own age?"

Her shoulders slumped, defeated, and Nathan gave her a sympathetic look before changing the subject, "So, Peter pulled me out of a very important meeting. Want to tell me why?"

She gazed absently down at the ground below, voice glum, "My dad was trying to make me go home."

"_Great_," he replied wryly, "I've just aided and abetted a minor."

She didn't so much as crack a grin.

---

It wasn't much longer until they landed and called Peter. Apparently, with the exception of Ted, her dad had let the others go. She wasn't sure if there was any kind of struggle, but there had been too many people for the Haitian to handle, and she was the only one they were really after anyway.

Hiro had come for her, teleported Nathan back to Vegas, and taken her to Isaac's where Peter was waiting for her.

As soon as he saw her, he rushed to her, hauled her to him, crushing her body against his, "Thank God," he said, pulling back only enough to cup her face in his hands, "Are you okay?"

She hated this. Hated how much his touch affected her, hated that it wasn't the same for him. He cared about her, she knew that, even Nathan had admitted it, but how much of his concern was for her, and how much of it was because she was his key to saving the world? "I'm fine," she huffed, "The _world's _fine."

"Screw the world," he pulled her head to rest against his chest and whispered into her ear, "I've never been so scared in my life."

Her traitorous heart fluttered at his words, and it angered her that he couldn't seem to make up his mind. One minute, he wanted her; the next, he was pushing her away. Why did he have to be such a contradiction?

His fingers ran through her hair, "Let's go home, Claire."

She snuggled in closer – just one last embrace – then forced herself to pull away. "Actually, I think I'm going to stay here tonight," and she really hoped it was okay with Isaac that she'd just invited herself for a sleepover.

Peter furrowed his brows at her, confused, disappointed, maybe even a little bit hurt, and she averted her gaze. She was the victim in this scenario, not him, and she wasn't going to play the adoring, smitten girl anymore.


	20. Age Is Just a Number

**Title:** _The Queen of Hearts_  
**Characters:** Paire, Ensemble, hints of Peter/Simone  
**Genre: **Romance, UST, Humor, Angst  
**Rating:** M (for this chapter)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes or any of its characters, nor do I own the lyrics in the summary, which are from the song _Desperado_.

**Summary:** "Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy. She'll beat you if she's able. You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet." Living with Claire teaches Peter the difference between love and infatuation. AU after Fallout.

**A/N: **Did you guys think I forgot about you? Alas, I did not. Real life has been conspiring against me, trying to keep me from completing this chapter. If you care to hear my excuses, I'll probably rant about them on my journal at some point. Anyway, here it is, the long awaited Chapter 20. I hope it's worth the wait. And heads up about the elevated rating for this chapter. There's a good chance I might move this fic over to the M section.

To all Wolverine/Rogue shippers: it should become highly apparent that I'm one of you.

**Chapter Twenty: Age Is Just a Number **

Claire was sitting at Isaac's table with Matt, whom Audrey, after seeing how very real Isaac's gift was, had ordered to stay in New York to wait for more clues while she investigated Sylar's most reason murder. Micah was off spending time with his bandaged up parents while Hiro and Ando sat on the couch, faces glued to the television screen.

Oh, and Simone was _back_. Granted, Isaac had invited her over, citing that several paintings had been fulfilled during their confrontation with Ted, but still. It wasn't like the paintings would self-destruct if they weren't taken to the gallery immediately, so was it really necessary for her to come today?

Claire seethed, watched as Simone kept smiling and laughing, giving Isaac discreet little touches that weren't actually discreet at all. And didn't Simone tell her yesterday that she was planning on seeing Peter at Nathan's party or whatever tonight?

Claire couldn't help feeling a little bitter. _This _was who Peter had passed her up for? Someone who couldn't even decide if she wanted him or her ex-boyfriend?

She gazed dejectedly at the woman that Peter had chosen, from the expensive looking pendant dangling around her neck, down her slim body, to endless legs strapped to the little stilettos on her feet. No wonder he wanted Simone. Claire didn't think she'd ever be that beautiful.

"Nonsense," Matt turned the page of his newspaper, "You're already a stunner. Give it a couple years, and you'll leave her in the dust."

"Yeah?" Claire beamed over at him, "I guess I _do_ have better hair."

He grinned, "That's the spirit."

---

Claire finished washing her hands and dried them on the hand towel before opening the bathroom door and coming face to face with Simone.

"Hello, Claire," Simone greeted her with a smile.

She inclined her head at Simone and decided to take the high road, just to walk away, but with each step she took, she could feel the anger welling up inside her, finally boiling over. She whipped around, "What are you even doing here?"

Simone stood, poised with her hand on the doorknob, "Beg your pardon?" and the words weren't defensive or rude, just questioning.

"I just don't get it," didn't bother trying to keep the accusation out of her voice, "Why are you all over Isaac all of a sudden?"

Simone gave an amused little laugh, "All over him?" but Claire just stared at her, expecting an answer, and Simone sighed before responding politely, "No offense, Claire, but I really don't think that's any of your business."

The little innocent act was getting irritating. "Isaac andPeter are two of the greatest guys I've ever met, and I think it's really low, what you're doing to them.

Simone let go of the doorknob and drew her arms up to fold across her chest, arching a finely shaped brow, "And just what am I doing?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Don't play dumb."

"I think you're out of line, Claire."

And Simone's patronizing tone just pissed her off even more. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

Simone responded calmly, "Then stop acting like one."

All those awful emotions she'd been keeping to herself came rushing up all at once, and she just couldn't hold them in anymore, "You know what? You're _right_; I _am _young. But that's only temporary. But _you?_" her eyes bore into Simone's as she finished evenly, "You will _always _be a bitch."

Then she turned on her heal and stormed off, and though her actions might've been a little on the immature side, they still felt damn good.

---

Even though Simone was long gone, Claire was still hiding away, fuming about their confrontation. She was curled up in front of the painting of her near kiss with Peter, and she was surely a masochist because she couldn't stop looking at it.

She trailed her fingertips along the painted curve of his face. God, he looked good that night.

This was pathetic. Here she was, still pining away for him, missing him like crazy when he was probably off getting ready for Nathan's event, making sure he looked good for _Simone_.

"The painting is very beautiful."

Claire turned her head to see Hiro approaching her. He kneeled down beside her and offered her a gentle smile, and she looked at the canvas again, the way the figures were completely wrapped up in each other, the longing on Peter's face as he held her so lovingly in his arms.

She shook her head, couldn't help feeling bitter, "It's all lies."

Hiro looked back and forth between her and the painting. "Peter-kun," patted his hand over his heart, "loves Cheerleader Claire."

Her shoulders slumped. "No, he doesn't."

Hiro looked back at the painting, brows furrowed, then tried to explain why she had to be wrong about Peter's feelings, "You are 'power couple.' Like Cyclops and Jean Grey."

She remembered that movie. "If anyone's Jean, it's Simone. _She's _the one everyone seems to want," the resentment was clear in her voice, "If anything, I'm the girl with the freaky skin thing, the social pariah who ran away from home."

"Rogue," he supplied.

"That's the one."

A succinct nod. "Then you and Peter-kun can be power couple like Rogue and Gambit."

"Who's Gambit?"

He held up a hand, tips of his first two fingers and thumb pressed together, "Card," mimed what looked like throwing a Frisbee. "Boom."

She gave him a blank look. "I don't remember that."

His face fell. "But – He's her main boyfriend."

Huh? "I thought the ice guy was her boyfriend."

"In movies," he conceded.

Shrugged one shoulder, "I've only seen the movies."

"Oh." Then a victorious little smile emerged on his face. "You and Peter-kun can be Rogue and Iceman from movies."

Because _that _particular relationship turned out _so _well. "Doesn't he like that Kitty girl now? And besides, I always thought Rogue had a thing for the sexy claw guy."

"Okay, you and Peter-kun can be Rogue and Wolverine."

She didn't bother pointing out that Wolverine didn't want Rogue, that he only ever seemed to want Jean, whom, incidentally, they'd already established as Simone. Go figure.

Hiro must've seen that she wasn't exactly satisfied with the comparison. "You should have faith in Peter-kun," gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, "A hero must have faith."

She let out a self-depreciating laugh. "I'm not much of a hero," and she didn't need advice that sounded like it came from a fortune cookie, especially when it didn't apply to her.

But he didn't share her assessment of herself. In all earnestness, "You _are _hero. You saved my life," he looked meaningfully down at her hand that had regenerated. "Thank you."

She really hadn't given much thought to what happened with Ted. All her thoughts seemed to revolve around Peter; she was always so wrapped up in everything that was happening between them that she rarely ever thought about anything else.

Suddenly, she felt like a bit of a heel. Hiro had been bending over backwards trying to make her feel better: her teddy bear, the cheer, and his reassurance of Peter's feelings, even if it was riddled with superhero references.

Yet she was still sulking and feeling sorry for herself. God, she must seem so ungrateful right now. She was definitely going to have to work on that, and the first step was to get her mind off of Peter. "Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Hiro, but do you want to know what would _really_ make me feel better?"

---

After she'd explained to Hiro what she wanted, he'd urged the other guys – Isaac, Ando, and Matt – into the kitchen to hear her request. At first, she'd felt a bit presumptuous for thinking she had the right to ask these guys for anything, but Hiro's encouraging smile made her feel like it was okay.

They were all waiting expectantly so she took a deep breath and began, "I'm having _serious_ self-esteem issues right now, and I need to stop moping and get out of the apartment. That's where you guys come in." The guys, minus Hiro, looked at her warily, and she gave them a bright smile. "You're going to take me out to a nice, fancy dinner, and you're going to fawn over me and make me feel pretty," when Matt opened his mouth to interrupt, "and yes, Matt, that includes you."

"But I don't really have the proper attire…"

Waved her hand dismissively, "That's not an excuse. I'm sure Hiro can help you out; he's better than FedEx."

He shook his head at her, amused, "You're a bossy little thing."

She raised her eyebrow, daring him to continue along that train of thought, and his mouth snapped shut. She gave a slight nod of satisfaction before addressing the whole group. "Now, I'm going to take a shower, and when I get out, you guys better be properly groomed, wearing suits, and ready to buy me a dress."

Ando glanced around at the other guys before questioning, "Buy you a dress?"

She nodded.

Isaac exchanged a wary look with Ando, "And who, exactly, is doing the buying?"

She looked at him as if that was the dumbest question she'd ever heard. "I have four guys taking me out on a date; if I can't sweet talk one of you, I really _have_ lost my touch."

---

After getting out of the shower, she'd rummaged in the cabinets below the sink until she came out with a hairdryer. At first, she was reluctant to use it since it most likely belonged to Simone – unless Isaac had a penchant for making his hair fluffy – but if Simone could steal her guy, then Claire could sure as hell borrow a hairdryer.

But her reasoning didn't mean much since she couldn't get the hairdryer to actually work. She banged it on the counter a few times – the tried and true method of fixing finicky electronics – but no dice.

She huffed, wrapped her towel more securely around her, and headed out to find Micah. When she reached the main room, Isaac, Hiro, Ando, and Matt were all sitting around, dressed in suits just like she'd requested.

"Where's Micah?" she asked, getting their attention.

They all turned to look at her with raised eyebrows and dumbfounded looks, probably because the only thing covering her was a little piece of terrycloth, and any other time, that might've embarrassed her, but right now, she was on a mission.

She tapped her foot, "Well?" shot a irritated look at the hairdryer in her hand, "I need him to fix this stupid thing."

Matt's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Aren't you getting a little worked up? It's just hair."

She huffed, "Yeah, well, my hair's the only thing I have going for me, remember?"

Isaac finally pointed over his shoulder, "Micah's in the other room with his parents."

Claire nodded her thanks and headed off in the direction he'd pointed, then turned back around with a bright smile on her face, "By the way, you guys clean up real nice," ending with a saucy wink before exiting the room.

---

"How are you guys?" She asked D.L. and Niki, who were lounging around on an air mattress while Micah tinkered with the hairdryer.

D.L. groaned theatrically. "In pain."

Niki laughed, "Don't listen to him. He's a big baby."

"A big baby who's _in pain_," grumbled D.L.

Niki shared a smile with her. "So," Niki began, "I hear you've roped the guys into taking you out."

Claire grinned, shrugged one shoulder.

D.L. looked up at her from his position on the mattress. "If I wasn't on enough painkillers to choke a donkey, I'd go just to see the show."

"Show?"

"Hiro's going, right?"

She nodded.

"Then it'll be a show."

Micah tapped her on the shoulder and handed her the newly repaired hairdryer. "Here ya go."

She beamed down at him. "Thanks. That was fast."

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk, "That was nothing."

Claire smiled at everyone and took a few steps back toward the door. "I better go get ready."

"Hope you have fun," D.L. said. "You look like you could use it."

"Gee, thanks," she replied sarcastically, then, more seriously, "It's just… with everything that's going on with Peter…"

He waved her off, "I understand. You know, my offer to kick his ass is still on the table."

"Or I could have Jessica do it," Niki put in. "It'd probably hurt more."

And risk Peter turning all sexy on her again? While the thought had some obvious appeal, she'd have to pass. If Peter kissed her again, there was a good chance she'd lose whatever strength and resolve she'd gained. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.

When she headed back into the bathroom, fresh clothes and her makeup bag were waiting for her on the counter, and she smiled fondly at how they must've gotten there. Hiro really was better than FedEx.

---

Dress shopping with four guys? A surprisingly fun experience.

Ando held up a slinky little red dress. "This one's pretty."

Claire opened her mouth to tell Ando what she thought about it, but Matt beat her to it. "She's not digging the shaded chiffon."

The guys all stopped what they were doing to stare at him, and Isaac finally arched his brow and asked, "How do you know what _chiffon_ is?"

"What?" blank look, "I read her thoughts."

Ando's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Likely story."

"No no no," Matt waved off their insinuations. "I'm a guy. A manly guy. I have a gun."

Isaac glanced down at Matt's crotch and smirked, "That's good to know."

"Aww." Claire stepped into Matt's side and hugged him around the waist. "Quit picking on the new guy."

Matt wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave the others a smug grin. "Yeah, guys, quit picking on me."

"Would you look at that," Isaac said to Ando and Hiro, "The guy's been with us a day and already he's trying to steal our girl."

Our girl. Was that how they thought of her? She kind of liked the idea, liked that she was somehow special to this group of misfits, as if they held her up on some kind of pedestal like a beloved younger sister. Made her feel a bit like a princess.

Before, she'd thought they were only going through with her little 'date' idea because they'd felt sorry for her, but maybe there was more to it than that, a suspicion that was pretty much confirmed once she started trying on dresses. No guy would've put up with all her little demands – sending them off for different sizes, having them put the castoffs back on hangers – unless they cared about her.

When she finally emerged from the dressing room wearing a short black cocktail dress with a daring neckline, they whistled and applauded, and she was a little surprised when Ando was the one who offered to buy the dress. "Anything for a pretty girl."

She wondered if Hiro talked to him and made him agree to indulge her this evening, or if maybe Ando was just the kind of guy who really did have a weakness for 'pretty girls,' then decided it didn't matter and planted a kiss on his cheek. Ando rubbed his hand against his cheek, and she laughed when the other guys started complaining about not getting kisses, too.

When they started offering up suggestions on where to go, Ando said he'd found the perfect place in the newspaper Matt had been reading this morning.

"Was some restaurant advertising or something?" Isaac asked.

Ando grinned. "Something like that."

---

"Um, Ando? I don't think this is a restaurant." She and the others looked over the huge building with the fancy trimmings and tall stone pillars. It looked like it was some grand hotel or something.

"It's perfect," Ando replied. "It's fancy, there is a dance floor, and the food is _free_."

Hiro furrowed his brows. "How is the food free?"

Ando gave a careless shrug. "It's some big shot party. We can blend in with the other guests."

Isaac looked at him incredulously, "You want us to crash a party?"

"Why not?" Ando responded. "New York is expensive."

"Not to rain on anyone's parade," Matt interjected, "but won't something like this be invitation only?"

Ando clapped a hand on Hiro's shoulder. "That's where Hiro comes in."

Looking out at the imposing building, Hiro swallowed, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

---

God hated her. Either that or He really liked toying with her. Out of all the places they could've possibly gone, they just had to pick the one that Peter just happened to be at.

She felt so stupid. She should've foreseen this. She'd known that Nathan had this huge event happening tonight, so when Ando had said this was some 'big shot party,' it should've connected that the 'big shot' was Nathan.

Shortly after Hiro used his powers to sneak them in, her eyes had landed on Peter, as if they were somehow programmed to seek him out. Isaac had followed her gaze and immediately told her that they could leave, find somewhere else to go, but she shook her head; she wasn't going to let herself be scared off, didn't want to be that girl.

The massive room was bright and pristine, the kind with the oversized crystal chandelier hanging over it. It was a little stuffy and formal for her tastes but beautiful nonetheless.

People were milling about, chatting, laughing, sipping champagne from delicate little flutes, and Peter was one of them, hair pushed back off his face, standing at Nathan's side, making small talk with a couple grey-haired men. And though Peter looked amazing in the tailored suit he wore, she couldn't help wanting to run her hands through his hair just to muss it up a bit.

On the bright side, he hadn't seen her yet, though that probably had something to do with her hiding behind the guys over by the refreshments, and thankfully, Simone was off mingling with a separate group of people so she hadn't had to watch them fawn over each other.

She sighed. The whole point of this little outing was to get her mind off Peter, which obviously wasn't going to happen if she kept staring at him like this.

Okay. New tactic.

She smiled at her boys, who were munching away on over-garnished hors d'oeuvres. "Are any of you ever going to ask me to dance?"

They all froze and looked over at her wearing the expressions of deer caught in headlights. Their eyes darted around at each other, waiting for someone to speak up so they wouldn't have to.

Claire folded her arms over her chest and suppressed the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant little girl. "Well?"

Isaac finished chewing the food in his mouth and swallowed. "I guess I can."

Glowering, "Don't sound so excited." She looped her arm around his and urged him toward all the other dancing couples.

When they reached the dance floor, she and Isaac stood there, facing each other, and there was a brief fumbling of limbs before they got into the proper position, her left hand resting on his shoulder, his right on the small of her back, free hands raised and clasped together.

Tentatively, they started swaying, shuffling their feet from side to side. Isaac grimaced, "Sorry. Dancing's not exactly my forte."

"You could always break out the Blues Brothers," she teased.

He snorted. "They might kick us out if I do that."

"Aw, come on," she cajoled, "I'm sure there's some nice old lady here who would _love_ to learn the twist."

"Funny."

Smiled, shrugged her shoulder, "I thought so."

He pulled her in a little closer, feeling a bit more confident, and promptly stepped on her toe. "Sorry. You can't say I didn't warn you."

Giggling, "Just – stop focusing so much on your feet." Pointed up at her eyes, "Look up at me."

His eyes still aimed at the floor, "If I don't look at my feet, I won't be able to stop them from stepping on your toes."

She moved her hand beneath his chin and lifted it up. "If you _keep_ looking at them, you're going to step on my toes anyway."

And that's how Peter found them: their bodies close from dancing, wide smiles on their faces, her hand resting under Isaac's chin.

Claire's eyes widened when she saw Peter standing there glowering at the both of them.

"What are you two doing here?" His words were laced with accusation, and Claire immediately felt guilt creep up inside her before remembering that she had nothing to feel guilty about.

So she pushed those feelings down and smiled brightly, "We're dancing."

When she stepped in even closer to Isaac, Peter's eyes narrowed at her. "Can we talk?" a brief glance at Isaac, "Alone?"

Her flippant response, "Can it wait till later? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

Smiling awkwardly, Isaac said to them, "Maybe I should leave you two alone."

Peter glared over at him, "I think that's a good idea."

Peter had always seemed jealous of her friendship with Isaac, but now she wondered if that jealousy was just an extension of his and Isaac's little battle for Simone.

Her grip on Isaac tightened, "You don't have to go," but he extricated himself from her arms despite her protestations.

"I think you two have some talking to do," he told her before offering her a small smile and heading back over to the other guys.

She turned back to Peter, "Are you happy now?"

"Not even close." He took the crook of her elbow and started marching her toward the doors at the back of the room.

Through those doors was an expansive foyer diverting into a wide staircase and two separate corridors. The moonlight flooding through the many windows was the only source of light. She vaguely wondered if they should be wandering around the building like this but didn't dare mention anything to Peter about it.

He led her down one of the corridors, didn't stop until they rounded a corner, then turned to face her. The shadows played off Peter's face, his eyes dark and intent, filled with anger – she'd never seen him so mad. "Why are you doing this?" he hissed.

A burst of self-righteous anger roared up at the way he was behaving, and she jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Why do you care?" she challenged.

His eyes narrowed. "You _know _why."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted a single brow at him. "No, I don't think I do."

Expression darkening, "You were all over him, Claire."

She scoffed. "_Hardly_. And even if I was, that's none of your business."

"Like hell, it's not!"

"No, Peter. It's _not_. I can do whatever I want with Isaac."

His scowl deepened at her words. "So what? You're just gonna drop me and go after him, now?"

"_Drop_ you?" she asked, baffled. "There's nothing to drop! You had plenty of chances with me, but you never took _any_ of them!" So much for trying to act aloof, but he'd hurt her, and she wanted him to know it. "You _knew _how I felt. You _heard _it. But you just left me hanging. Do you just like it when I _throw_ myself at you?"

"_Dammit_, Claire. Do you think this has been easy for me?" He shoved an agitated hand through his hair, "Fuck!" started pacing before her. "I'm twenty-six years old! I shouldn't even _think_ about being with you. I mean, look at you," gestured over her, "you're just a teenager!"

She flinched. "Well, at least now I know how you feel." She brushed past him, and he huffed in frustration before following after her.

She only made it a few feet before she whirled back around. "You know what? I'm _sick_ of having my age thrown in my face!" jabbed her finger at his chest, "Just because I'm young doesn't make my feelings any less real."

He gave her an annoyed look. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"How? How do I know? You're, like, the master of mixed signals. One minute you want me and the next, you don't!"

"It's not that simple!" he shot back.

"Isn't it?" She could think of tons of examples to back up her point. "What about those things you said that night I wore your shirt, about me never having to be alone? Huh? Or how 'bout what you told me in the cab?" When he averted her eyes, she felt a smug sense of satisfaction and pressed on, "I thought you meant…" gestured with her hand, letting him fill in the rest. "But you never even mentioned it again!"

His expression grew tender, "Claire."

But she didn't want his tenderness, didn't want to be placated. The dam had finally broken, her feelings spilling out, and she wasn't about to stop just because it was making him feel a little uncomfortable. "And what about our little 'science experiment'? You were all over me, and then you just _stopped_." His jaw clenched, but she pressed on, gesturing wildly, "And the next morning you avoided me _completely_!"

He suddenly snapped, getting right up in her face, "That wasn't because I didn't want you! It was because I wanted you too much!"

Her heart flipped at his words, but she was quick to rein it back in. He was with Simone, so God only knew why he was suddenly owning up to his feelings for her.

She shook her head at him, "You can't keep doing this to me, Peter. You can't keep stringing me along," hated the pleading in her voice, "Why won't you just make up your mind?"

Exasperated, "I _have_!"

His words were like a punch to the gut. But he was right. She just hadn't wanted to accept that he wanted Simone instead of her. For an endless moment, she stared into his stormy eyes, watched as his chest heaved up and down. "Yeah. I guess you have."

Just because she didn't like his decision, didn't mean he hadn't made one. _She_ was the one who kept holding on, the one who refused to let go.

But not anymore.

She could feel angry, resentful tears welling up behind her eyes, but hell if she was going to let him see them. "I gotta go." She hurried past him, desperate to get back to the doors, as if they could somehow protect her from whatever rejection he was about to deal out.

He growled in frustration, "Would you just _wait_!"

At his words, fury tore through her body, and she spun back around, "I _already_ waited! I waited all night for you in that _stupid _angel costume! And the whole time, you were out _sleeping _with _her!_" And just like that, the fury was gone, leaving her broken and weak. So much for not letting him see her cry. She didn't bother wiping the tears away, just let them fall, didn't have the energy to pretend like she was strong.

He looked stunned by her outburst, and she waited for him to explain his actions, to offer her a reason, make up some kind of excuse, but when he just kept looking at her, her shoulders slumped, feeling stupid for expecting anything from him. She sniffled a little as she tried to walk away again.

He grabbed her arm, "I didn't sleep with Simone."

But his words left her unaffected. She didn't know what to think about him and Simone anymore; she was too weary to even care. "However you feel about Simone, about me –" a careless shrug, "It doesn't even matter anymore."

She drew in a shaky breath and ran a hand through her hair. "I can't keep doing this. I _can't_. It _hurts_," and she was _tired_ of hurting, tired of being in limbo with him, and she wasn't going to let herself hope anymore. "I'm so sick of feeling like this, like I'm waiting around for something that's never gonna happen."

She looked up at him tearfully, her voice nearly breaking, "I care about you _so_ much, Peter, but I'm done waiting for you."

This time, when she turned to leave, he made no move to stop her.

She felt lost as she turned her back on him – this wasn't the way things between them were supposed to go. As she walked away, she tried to convince herself that this was for the best, that she needed to cut her ties to him if she was ever going to stand a chance at getting over him, and she was about to round the corner and enter the main corridor when…

"Wait."

She stopped in her tracks – would she ever be able to refuse him anything? – closed her eyes, more tears slipping down her cheeks, before turning back around to face him. "Why should I?"

There was a moment's hesitation before he came to some sort of decision, and out of all the words he could've possibly said, the ones that came out of his mouth were the last she'd ever expected. "You still owe me a kiss."

She stared at him dumbly, unsure if she'd heard him right. "What?"

He started advancing on her, his eyes holding a glint she'd never seen in them before. "It's my kiss, Claire." He drew nearer, a few more steps, and all she could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, as his voice caressed its way over her skin and made his demand. "I _want _my kiss."

Her heart pounded as he came even closer, the blood roaring in her ears, rushing through her veins, her body trembling in anticipation.

And then he was right in front of her, looming over her, his chest brushing against hers. She pressed her palms against him and took a step back, needing some sort of space between them, not understanding what had come over him at all. "Peter…"

But he pulled her back against him, leaned in close, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face, "You owe me." She sucked in a shuddering breath when he slid his hand up her spine to cup the nape of her neck. "And I'm collecting."

Then he crushed his mouth to hers.

His lips moved over hers hungrily, as if at any moment she might fade away, as if this was his last chance to have her, his only chance to convince her to stay with him.

She'd be lying if she said it didn't overwhelm her, but this was _Peter_, and he was kissing her, _finally _kissing her, and she wasn't going to give him any excuse to stop. She pushed her shyness away, reached up and fisted her hands in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer to her.

But there was some niggling doubt festering around in the back of her mind, and as much as she wanted to ignore it, she couldn't; she was so scared he was going to take this back, tell her it was a mistake after all, that they couldn't do this. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, but the only one she could get out was "What about Simone?"

"Forget Simone." He barely stopped kissing her long enough to answer, as if the issue didn't warrant any attention at all, and the easy way he dismissed her question made her heart flutter in her chest, casting away the last tendrils of doubt.

She surged forward, burying her hands in his hair, arching into him and kissing him more insistently. The reaction was immediate: his eager hands spanned her back, yanking her flush up against him as he plundered her mouth even more urgently.

The way he tasted, heady and rich, was intoxicating. And his _scent_ – she hadn't been lying when she'd said she liked it. Everything about this man was perfect. And she wanted it all, wanted to touch every inch of him, imprint herself on his skin, make it so no one could have him but her.

Her hands moved eagerly over his chest, and as incredible as he looked in this suit, it was starting to frustrate her that she couldn't feel anything through the thick material. Reaching down, she fumbled with the jacket's buttons, finally getting them undone, then smoothed her hands back up to push it off his shoulders. Peter's hands left her body long enough to shake the jacket off, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor, and then they were back on her, running up and down her sides, caressing her through the thin material of her dress, tilting her head to kiss her even deeper.

His reaction to her made her bold. She tugged his dress shirt free from the waistband of his pants and slid her hands up under it to feel the heated skin of his back. He was all hard planes and sinewy muscle, and she couldn't help running her hands all along them, up to his shoulder blades, greedy for the feel of him. When she raked her fingernails across his skin, he groaned into her mouth and kissed her even harder – her every little response was like adding gasoline to the flame, just made him that much more eager.

She felt his hands roving across her back, smoothing up the bare skin of her thighs. "You shaved your legs." The way he said it was almost an accusation. "For Isaac?"

"Don't be stupid," she shot down the notion immediately – the idea of her wanting anyone but him was absurd. "It's you. It's always been you." His eyes darkened, chest heaving, and he hauled her to him, turned, and pushed her up against the wall.

_God_, she half expected to see Jessica rounding the corner at any moment.

His touches were normally so careful, so gentle, but there was nothing careful or gentle in the way he wedged his leg in between hers, pressing up into the juncture of her thighs, pining her between him and the wall, his hands cupping her jaw, holding her in place as his mouth moved over hers in fervent, bone-melting kisses. And though her shoulder blades pressed uncomfortably against the hard, unyielding surface, she gripped his shoulders, urging him on, reveling in the feel of his body crowding her against the wall, making her feel so small, so unbelievably feminine.

She could feel something, hard and insistent, prodding at her hip, and she had to suppress the urge to blush when she realized what it was – acting like some nervous, inexperienced virgin wasn't exactly the message she wanted to send.

And though he was still kissing her, still clutching her body to his, pressing her hard against the wall, she wanted _more_. But the last time she'd tried to get it, he'd stopped her.

But this time felt different. She decided to take the chance, pushed her pelvis forward, up along the thigh she straddled, bringing her hips flush with his, rubbing shamelessly against the erection jutting into her belly.

He let out a low hiss. "_God_, Claire." His hands immediately reached down, landing low on her hips, and she braced herself for another refusal – now was the time where he stopped and pulled away – but he merely dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips and encouraged her to move again.

This time, when she rolled her hips into his, he met the movement with one of his own, then pulled back, using his hands to slide her down his thigh, then back _up_, dragging her heated core up his thigh till their hips met again. She splayed her fingers across his back beneath his shirt and moved her hips again, grinding against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

His hands fisted in the material of her dress, bunching the skirt up around her hips to get it out of the way, then slid his hands under it to grip her hips just over the thin straps of her underwear and started guiding her movements, urging her into a faster pace.

And for a while, that was all that existed, just the frenzied rocking of their hips as she rode his thigh, the delicious slide of his body against hers, harsh, gasping breaths, moans their kisses didn't quite muffle. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, like it was being overloaded with sensation: the wet heat of his tongue sliding against hers, her aching nipples rubbing against his chest, his slacks grazing her inner thighs as the slick material of her panties dragged over her clit – it was too much and not enough.

She clung to him and worked her hips, needing _something_, so close but just out of reach. "Peter," she panted breathlessly, and he seemed to understand exactly what she needed. He reached a hand down between their bodies and cupped her sex, and she gasped when he started rubbing her through the fabric of her underwear. Her grip on him tightened, nails biting into the slick skin of his back as she bucked against his hand. The low heat in her belly coiled even more, winding tighter and tighter; she thrashed around in his arms, her inner muscles clenching, legs trembling, quick, shallow breaths, just a few more strokes…

Then everything flew apart.

Peter hauled her to him and thrust frantically against her while she pressed soft kisses against his throat, tasting the salt on his skin, and it wasn't long before his hips jerked against hers and he joined her over the edge.

His body slumped against her, head resting on her shoulder, and she just held him close, stroking her hands down his back soothingly.

She could feel his warm breaths on the crook of her neck slowly starting to calm back down and even out.

He raised his head up and asked her wryly, "Still think I don't want you?"

And she laughed, let any remaining tension drain out of her body, and soon he was he chuckling with her, his thumbs tracing lazy circles along her hips. Amazed that this man was actually holding her like this, that _Peter _was holding her like this, she reached up and fingered his hair, it definitely wasn't slicked back anymore, though it _was_ slightly damp from sweat.

God, had that really just happened? Had they really just come in each other's arms? The thought might've made her blush if she had any energy left, but right now, she just wanted to bask, curl into his body, immerse herself in him, and prolong this heady euphoria forever. And it was a good thing his thigh was still pressed between hers because it was the only thing keeping her on her feet.

Peter pressed a kiss to her temple and looked down at her lovingly, "Simone and I – whatever it was between us is done now. I ended things with her. _That's _why I was so late the other night."

And it was such a new way of viewing things. She thought back to everything that had happened over the past couple days, all the things that had made her so sure that he'd chosen Simone…

Claire's mind whirled, taking apart the puzzle she'd put together based on her assumptions and fitting the pieces back together according to what Peter had just told her.

Simone's behavior, flirting with Isaac, the cell phone – maybe Simone given it to Claire so she wouldn't have to face an awkward, post-break up meeting with Peter.

And the things Nathan had said? Maybe Nathan just didn't know what he was talking about. He _was _a politician, so that wasn't exactly a stretch.

When Peter had come over to Isaac's, he'd let on that something had happened with Simone, something that he wanted to talk to her about. She'd just assumed he was trying to let her down gently, but maybe she'd jumped the gun. God, had she really misunderstood _that_ badly?

She gazed up at him with a new light shining in her eyes. "You really broke up with her to be with me?"

He let out a sigh. "I'll be honest with you. I didn't want to rush into anything." When she tried to avert her eyes, he tilted her chin back up to make her look at him. "I was going to suggest we take things slow." He glanced down at the intimate position of their hips and added wryly, "But I guess that plan's shot to hell."

She giggled, cheeks turning a little pink, but then his expression turned serious, "Did I go too fast?"

Smiling softly at how concerned he sounded, "No. I mean – I didn't really expect…" struggled vainly for words to describe what they'd done that didn't include dry humping, "_that_. But no, it wasn't too fast."

"I didn't mean for it to go that far. I just –" he ran a hand through his hair, "you were walking away, and I was afraid I was going to lose you if I didn't make a move." He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly, "I guess I kind of got carried away. I didn't scare you, did I?

"No," she was quick to reassure. Smiling, she ducked her head and looked up at him demurely through her lashes, "_Actually_, it was kinda hot."

"Just 'kinda'?" he asked, sounding a little put out.

"_Really_ hot," she amended.

His hands spanned her ribcage as he playfully brushed his nose against hers, "Yeah?" then tilted his head and caught her bottom lip, nipping at it before coaxing her mouth open and sliding his tongue inside.

He was so gentle this time, tender caresses along her collarbone, her jaw, moving his lips languidly against hers, indulging in wet, lewd kisses that made her all too aware of his thigh still lodged firmly between hers. She rolled her hips into his, felt immensely pleased with herself when he groaned into her mouth. Feeling a bit impish, she asked him, "Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?"

Though her remark sounded teasing, she was very serious. She needed to know exactly where they stood with each other, couldn't bear going back to whatever vague, undefined relationship they'd had before.

Peter chuckled, brushed his lips softly against hers. "Looks like it."

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, a slow smile emerged on her face, "And I get touching privileges?" smoothed her hands across his chest to emphasize her question.

He grinned at her. "Knock yourself out."

"_Really?_ I can touch you anytime I want?"

He rubbed his body against hers sensually, bringing his hips into firm alignment with hers. "Be my guest."

This had to be the best deal anyone had ever given her. She let out a happy sigh just for his benefit. "I may never take my hands off you."

"Ah. You're going to be one of those _clingy _girlfriends, aren't you?"

She pouted at his teasing, but he just raised a challenging brow at her till she curled her lips up in a mischievous smile and slowly nodded her head.

Peter leaned back down to her and whispered, "I think I can handle that," then slanted his mouth over hers.

She loved this, loved the way he just leant in to kiss her whenever he wanted. She'd spent so long savoring every little touch from him, but now, he wouldn't _stop _touching her, as if he'd been just as starved for contact as she was.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, and smiled at him coyly, "Peter? I was wondering –"

He didn't let her finish, just swooped in and captured her lips again. He murmured against her mouth, "Whatever it is, the answer's yes."

She leaned back, giggling at him. "You don't even know what the question is"

His eyes were trained on her mouth. "Doesn't matter."

"But –" He caught her lips with his, effectively cutting off her words.

"No more talking," he told her in between kisses, pulled back long enough to trace the curve of her face reverently, "I feel like I've been waiting forever for this," then sought her lips out again.

She knew exactly what he meant.

And he made a good point. Kissing was _much_ better than talking. Besides, she could tell him he'd just agreed to buy those condoms, later.


End file.
